Sonata in G, Mvt III
by Cantoris
Summary: The next stage of Rachel Gideon's life, she mourns her mother, learns more about her father, and realizes that growing up and moving forward are much easier things to say than to do. Are her friends and family enough of a support system?
1. Diminished Seventh Chord

If you are new to _Sonata in G_, please go and read _Movements I & II_ before this. Trust me, it's for your own good.

_Related episode: 3.1 Doubt_

_Diminished Seventh Chord- a four note chord that is comprised of a diminished chord with an added diminished seventh; it is often used as a passing chord or in a key change_

"I think you need to talk to someone, Rae."

I was sitting at the kitchen table in my father's apartment, eating toast and drinking orange juice. Dad sat across from me, coffee cup in hand and an empty plate where his scrambled eggs had been.

It had been almost four months since Mom's death and funeral. Four months of living with Dad, a situation I had never had before. Four months of trying to pretend I was okay so that Dad stopped looking so damned guilty just by looking at me. Needless to say, things could be better.

I swallowed another bite of toast and marmalade and took another sip of juice. There wasn't a good answer for me to give my waiting father. Sure, Dad, I'll spill my guts to anyone you send me to. Or I could say, what, are you nuts? I'm fine and don't need to talk to anyone. Both would be bald-faced lies and unfortunately, Dad could spot a lie straight off, even if I wasn't his daughter.

I settled for asking, "Do you really think it would make a difference?"

There was no answer for that, just as I expected. We'd had this conversation, or variations of it, throughout the summer while we both tried to adjust to our sudden road blocks. Dad hadn't had a teenager living with him for almost a decade, and his other offspring was a son, not a daughter. Likewise, I was trying to live with having a father around and not a mother, a brand spanking new experience for me. Add to that the fact that he blamed himself for Mom's death and some days I agreed with him… It had been a long summer.

"I worry about you," Dad told me. That wasn't anything new. "And I'll worry more when I go back into the field. There's a case being presented today and I think the team will be flying out today."

I should have felt angry that Dad found it so easy to go back to work when it was his job that had at least greatly contributed to Mom's death, if not was the sole reason. That was what really told me I wasn't my normal self yet. But I had been expecting him to go back to the FBI Behavioral Analysis Unit for weeks now as a full field agent.

"It's fine, I'll be fine," I repeated myself from our other conversations. "I'm seventeen and it's not like I've never been left on my own before."

"Never for more than one night at a time," Dad argued.

I looked him straight in the eye. "What do you propose, Dad? Can you think of any other way to go back to work and stay home with me at the same time? If you can, I'd love to hear it."

Again, no answer. I finished my breakfast and then went back to my room to finish getting ready. My room here was about half the space I was used to, 10 x 10, with barely enough room for the twin bed, my desk, dresser, and a single set of bookshelves. One corner had Hannah's litter box and cat tower, where my gray tabby was currently hiding. She didn't like any of these changes either.

I opened my closet and swapped out my tee shirt for a tank top and cotton button up that I left open. Jeans I had on already, and I slipped into sandals for the warmer temperatures that were sticking around in September. I braided my hair, brushed my teeth, and put on some eye shadow and lip gloss. Auto pilot had become my friend.

Just a month into my junior year, and having school was already helping me. I had a schedule, something to focus on and keep my busy. I went to my classes, did my homework, practiced my music. It was so much better compared to the summer days with nothing to do and no where to go. Half the time, especially in the beginning, I had just stayed in bed all day.

With my messenger bag over my shoulder, I went back out to the living room, ready to go catch the bus to school. Dad was still at the kitchen table.

"I want you to talk with someone, Rachel," he said quietly but forcefully. Before, it had always been asking me if I wanted to or just saying he thought it would be a good idea, like earlier.

"Are you talking to someone?" I challenged. Somehow, I couldn't see my emotionally closed down, FBI profiler father sitting down and talking out his feelings with anyone.

"I had to, to come back to work," Dad answered.

Here's the thing with a lot of Dad's answers to my questions: they do technically address my question, but they don't actually directly answer them. He didn't say he chose to talk with someone, or that he felt better for it. Or that he still was. He just "had to" so that he could go back to getting into other peoples' heads.

"Yeah, well, until I have to, I'm not going to," I said, hoping and not believing that that would be the end of it.

"This isn't an option any more," Dad dictated. "You have to. You're going to."

Now I was angry and it felt wonderful. "I _want_ to talk with Mom. I _want_ my life back. But I can't have that, can I? And whose fault is that?"

I stormed out of the apartment and raced down the two flights of stairs. Three blocks away, I stopped at the public bus stop and sat down hard on the bench. I braced my shaking hands against my thighs and breathed in slowly through my nose and out my mouth.

I shouldn't have said that. I had been so careful to never say those words because I knew that even if I was feeling it at the time, saying it out loud wouldn't change anything or make me feel better. And it would hurt Dad. It had hurt Dad, I could see that as I had left. My anger turned into guilt and shame, almost choking me. And if he did end up going out on this case, I wouldn't even be able to apologize for it tonight. Damn it. Damn it, damn it, damn it.

I arrived to school in a black mood, still upset with Dad and myself. I could barely concentrate in French and Statistics, my first morning classes, and study hall was torture with nothing else to distract me. After those, I got to orchestra and Michael was waiting for me.

We always made an odd looking pair, no matter the day. My clothes were clean and colorful, Michael almost always wore worn and holey jeans and dark but faded tee shirts. He was tall and lean, I was shorter and better fed. In addition to all that, there's the fact that he's practically an outcast to the rest of the school, and I still had other friends—though I had lately lost a lot of those when I almost fell off the face of the planet during the summer.

And while our backgrounds could read like we were completely opposite, we now had a lot more in common. Michael's dad was abusive, mine was just distant and absent. We were both without our moms, but his had run off when he was still a kid and mine…well, yeah.

Most of all, Michael and I worked as friends because we both listened and neither of us judged the other. He, more than anyone else, had become my anchor in life. On days that he hadn't work at the auto shop and I couldn't get out of bed, he would sneak in while Dad was at work, just sitting on the floor next to my bed. He never talked to me, he just sat with me so I wasn't alone. If ever I lost Michael, I knew I would crack.

"Bad morning?" he asked me as I retrieved my music from my slot.

"Yeah," I answered wearily. "Epically bad."

Before, we didn't touch all that often. Lately, we were much more likely to hug, lean against each other, even just grab hands. Michael grasped my shoulder and squeezed reassuringly. I bent my neck so that my cheek touched his hand. Just for that moment, no longer than a single breath, we stood like that before separating to our sections in the orchestra, him to percussion and me to the woodwinds. I saw the look on Ashley Martin's face a row ahead of me with the cellos. She looked equal parts disgusted and furious.

I still technically had a boyfriend, Mark Amborn, who I wouldn't see until lunch and then band later. Despite the lack of communication over the summer, Mark was still friendly to me with no indications that he wanted to break up with me. And it wasn't that I wanted to break up with him, I just couldn't talk with him about how I was feeling. So, we were still together but everyone else believed I was cheating on him with Michael.

But no matter what the small-minded, juvenile gossips thought, there was nothing romantic between Michael and me. Just such a strong friendship that they couldn't understand.

At the end of rehearsal, our teacher, Mr. Rose, reminded us to pick up fliers for our citrus sale to help us go to Chicago over spring break. When Michael would have walked past, I elbowed his ribcage and gave him a look.

"I'm not going without you," I told him honestly. The band was going too and I had friends there as well, but I needed Michael.

He looked like he wanted to fight me on it, but eventually, he took a handful of fliers. "I'll pass them out to customers at the shop."

I nodded my approval and then we went our different ways. Physics AP kept me occupied and then at lunch, I sat with Mark, some of his friends, my old friend Alicia and some other girls. I sat next to Mark, summoning a thin smile for him when he passed over the root beer he had gotten me.

"We never did anything for your birthday," Mark commented about half way through lunch.

"That's not true," I protested. "You gave me those headbands I like and told me happy birthday. That's all I needed."

Mark wasn't good enough to spot my lie. Oh, the gift and the greeting was all I needed from him, of course. And Michael had also remembered, giving me incense and candles. But the only thing I wanted was impossible.

"But we didn't celebrate," Mark argued. He probably didn't realize that I didn't _want_ to celebrate. "There'll be some warm weather this weekend, let's go down to the beach one last time this year."

I knew he meant well and I didn't want to burn all my bridges. "Sure," I said. "The beach sounds great, but let's have it be just because, not for my birthday."

"Whatever you say."

The rest of the day passed and I caught the bus back to Dad's apartment. I probably could still have asked for a ride from Alicia's mother, but things were rocky between us and had been for awhile. Alicia had been my first friend when I moved from California to Virginia. We were friends through middle school, but things had changed when we reached high school for a lot of reasons. She didn't understand my envy at her nuclear, traditional family and I think she started to resent how easily schoolwork was still for me. Then especially as I started seeing Mark, a guy half the female population would kill to date, it seemed like she could never stop digging at me.

One of the last real deep conversations I had had with my mom was about whether or not to end our friendship. After, it just never seemed like the time to talk it out with Alicia herself, so I've left it up in the air. With all of that in mind, I didn't want to be asking favors.

On the bus ride, I checked my cell phone and saw the voice mail from Dad. As I had expected and feared, he had left on the case with the rest of the team. He would be home in a few days and we would talk more then. If I needed anything, I could call Penelope Garcia, the BAU's technical analyst who stayed in her office to offer her expertise.

I thought about calling back, but what we needed to say to each other would be better done in person, so I checked the fridge for dinner options, unloaded my books in my room, and fed Hannah who was still exploring her new home.

That night was quiet and uneventful. I finished my homework easily enough. I heated up a bowl of tomato soup and made a grilled cheese sandwich for dinner. Probably one of the most noticeable differences in me since Mom's murder was that I was practically vegetarian. Most meats, especially in their raw forms, gave me horrific flashbacks and I have now lost taste for them. Seafood I could still manage, and sometimes I could eat chicken in soups or if it had already been cooked. And even then, I've been relying on cheese and eggs and peanut butter for most of my protein intake.

The rest of the night I spent in my room, practicing my music and trying to read for fun. The rest of Dad's apartment freaked me out with the bird posters and trains. I thought again for the thousandth time over the summer, I needed a job.

It was later in the night that Dad called me.

_"And you're okay on your own? If you're not comfortable, call Garcia. Or why don't you stay with your friend Alicia?"_

I didn't feel like getting into it about Alicia with Dad, so I just answered, "I'm fine, Dad. Really. This way I can practice and blast my music without bothering you."

_ "If you're sure… We might be here through the weekend."_

"What's the case?" I asked, trying to keep Dad talking while I worked up the nerve to say what I needed to say.

There was a long pause before Dad answered. He had never been happy talking about his cases with me to begin with. Now he was even more hesitant.

_ "Young women on a college campus are being killed. We're working on the profile now."_

I had nothing to say to that. Dad didn't offer details and I didn't ask for those. Before, I had wanted to know exactly what was going on. Then I saw it face to face in the form of a serial killer coming into my home and butchering my mother across the hall from where I had been tied up. Frank hadn't done anything to me directly, I came out of it without a scratch. All of my wounds were internal.

"Dad, about this morning…" I said, steeling myself. "I didn't mean to say that."

Dad sighed over the phone heavily. _"I know, Rae."_

He didn't call me on the fact that even though I hadn't meant to say that stuff, didn't mean that I didn't mean it. Part of me thought that Dad believed it was his fault, too, that Mom was dead. Dad and I had lost a lot of our conversation in the past few months. I was still too upset by everything else to be concerned by it.

I went to my junk drawer, surveying its contents. Michael had given me several sticks of incense in multiple scents for my birthday, including rose, lavender, and citrus. I took one of the rose ones, placed it in the silver holder, lit it and blew it out. I also took out a sage green votive candle and lit that too.

"I'm sorry, Mom," I said quietly. "I'm trying."

I was in bed at a decent hour, though it took me a while to fall asleep. Friday went much the same as Thursday had, minus the argument, of course, and that Garcia came over for dinner.

"Thai food tonight, chica," she said walking in, her voice as bright as her clothing. "Veggie Pad Thai for two and fried tofu with sweet chili sauce." Garcia was also vegetarian.

Dad had probably asked her to check in on me in person. Or maybe she had thought of it herself. Garcia was kind of awesome like that. She was the least likely looking FBI employee you could ever think of with half her blond hair died different colors, clunky cat's eye glasses, and a wardrobe that often involved bold patterns, bright colors, and daring styles. She had a nickname for just about everyone, multiple nicknames for the people she really liked. And she was brilliant in a scary, Big Sister way with her computers, like a cross between Oracle from Batman and Ducky from _The Land Before Time_.

Garcia very pointedly did not discuss the case with me and insisted we watch _Labyrinth_ with David Bowie and Jennifer Connelly from before she was famous. Hannah even came out and greeted this stranger when she was normally the shiest creature I've ever known. During the assault on the Goblin City, Garcia turned to me and eyed me carefully.

"Tell me you have something planned for this weekend," she said. "Something fun that gets you out of this apartment."

I felt a moment of gratitude toward Mark. "Beach trip," I answered. "There's a group from school going to hang out."

"Good," Garcia ruled imperiously. Somehow, I still didn't mind her tone or presumption to tell me what she thought I obviously needed. Instead of coming off as patronizing as Dad did, Garcia was more like a somewhat skewed version of a fairy godmother.

Garcia was reassured enough to leave me on my own for the night and the next day. About mid-morning, I put on my two piece red bathing suit that Mom would have called cute and Dad would have made me throw out. Over that I had khaki capris and a loose pull over shirt. I packed my wallet, keys, and cell phone with my sunglasses, sunscreen, beach towel, and water bottle into my canvas duffel bag.

Liz Peterson picked me up on the street, with Alicia in the front seat already. During the ride, Liz picked up my usual role of countering Alicia's complaints about family and school work while I remained silent. Luckily, Liz was able to change the topic to our trip to Chicago during spring break.

We even kept up the conversation when we caught up to everyone else, set up on the beach by the volleyball net. Most of us were band or orchestra students, and anyone who wasn't, was either an athlete with practices that week, or families that were going away on vacation. We would have a handful of concerts at local auditoriums or churches and would visit museums during the day or other touristy things.

In the end, there were nearly twenty of us there, and Mark was even able to convince me to play volleyball for a short time. I took some time to myself to swim in the still warm water before I returned to the beach where someone had started a fire in the stone pit. I dried off, put my clothes on, and wrapped up in my towel as the sun set and the temperature started to drop.

Mark brought me a metal skewer and sat down next to me, sharing his body heat, as marshmallows were passed around to roast. I basked in the warmth of the fire and the warmth of the body next to mine. As we all sat around, talking, laughing, and teasing, I actually started to relax and enjoy it. For the first time in months, I didn't feel quite so empty. It wasn't perfect yet, I still had aches in my heart and mind with a small hollow spot that kept me from participating all the time, but it was just a little bit better.

By the end of the night, I was snuggled between Mark's legs, resting with my back against his chest and his arms around my body, just underneath my breasts. His face was close to my ear, his nose buried in my now salty hair. In the growing dark, no one could see him plant soft kisses on my cheek and neck. Despite the fact that we'd been dating for over a year, we hadn't slept together yet. I hadn't felt ready and thankfully, Mark was willing to wait until I was. Then, I practically ignored him all summer. But now, feeling somewhat _alive_ for the first time in four months, I wondered if that had been a big mistake.

I got a ride home from Mark and let him walk me up to Dad's apartment. In the doorway, Mark kissed me until I was breathless, letting me know without words he was still very interested. His hands held conservatively on my hips to say he was still waiting for me.

With my lips and hands, I promised him, soon.

I slept dreamlessly that night and woke up feeling refreshed. After a shower, I cleaned the apartment and started the laundry. Dad walked in around noon. One look and I knew it had been bad. Within seconds of putting his go-bag down on the floor, Dad had me locked in his arms, one around my back and the other cradling my head and stroking my hair.

By mutual and silent consent, we didn't talk about anything serious that day, which meant we really didn't talk all that much. I added the clothes from his go-bag to the laundry while he picked more clothes to put in it. We made a pan of mushroom and pepper strata for dinner and then said our good nights early and separated to our rooms.

I had had some good days in the past week, some bad days, and some that were hard to qualify as either. And even whenever I managed to smile genuinely, I still felt that gaping hole in my heart where love, comfort and security used to be. Slowly, so slowly I could barely feel sometimes, I was healing. Or at least, scabbing over the wound.

* * *

Notes:

It is so good to be posting again! I have really missed sharing Rachel's story and getting your feedback, I couldn't wait any longer. Some logistics-I haven't finished with the third season yet, but I'd say it's about half way done. As I hinted earlier in the spring, I'll post chapters consistently, but in installations. Right now, I'm planning on giving you guys the first five chapters in a row, followed by a break as I get caught up. Then I'll either have everything done, or I'll give you the next chunk of chapters. Just to let you all know what's going on.

So, season three, here we go. This is probably the season where I've known for awhile what I've wanted to do and just had to get through seasons one and two to get here. And I would like to remind everyone that I will not be deviating from cannon. What that means specifically for Rachel, you'll find out soon. A lot of change happens in this year, and I mean, a lot. I hope that everyone continues to enjoy it and feels free as always to leave me any comments they want to share. Really, the more the merrier.

That all being said, happy reading!

Cantoris


	2. Modulation

_Related episode: 3.2 In Name and Blood_

_Modulation-a shift in a piece's tonality and harmonic structure, it can be accomplished by many different methods and techniques_

Dad pulled up into the Hotchners' driveway and put the car in park. At first, neither of us moved or spoke. Both of us had packed suitcases in the back seat, but where Dad was bound for his woodland cabin, I was expected to get out here.

"It's only for two weeks, Rae," Dad reminded me. "I need the time and you can't miss that much school."

Dad had been saying that for the past day, starting almost as soon as he had arrived home from his first case out in the field. He had only told me this morning before I left for school what he was planning and then allowed me just enough time to pack when I got home after school this same day. And here we were, at my dumping site.

"I don't want to go," I complained quietly. Yelling and shouting with Dad never worked.

"I know, Rae, I'm sorry."

I had nothing against the Hotchners, really. Hotch worked with Dad and treated me like my own person, not just a co-worker's kid. Haley was nice and I baby sit for their son, Jack. I just didn't want to stay with them for two weeks while Dad was getting his head on straight.

"Come on."

We had been sitting out there long enough that Hotch himself came out to the car to help. He and Dad shook hands while I got over the shock of seeing him in jeans and a tee shirt. Hotch had been wearing a suit every other time I'd seen him, so it was really weird.

"All set?" Hotch asked me, taking my suitcase from me while I shouldered my back pack.

I shrugged. Hotch looked sympathetic. He knew what Dad was like, too.

"Aaron, thank you," Dad said.

"Do what you need to do," Hotch responded. "We'll take care of her."

Hotch left for the front door, giving Dad and me a moment alone. We stood there, standing like idiots, until I tried one last time.

"What can you do at the cabin that you can't do here?" I asked.

"Get away," Dad answered simply. "This last case, this situation…I can't put them in perspective unless I'm not here."

I crossed my arms and stared at the ground. No matter what he said, it still felt like he was abandoning me. Dad waited a minute more, then stepped forward to hug me tightly. I remained stiff in his arms, refusing to hug back or relax. Finally, Dad kissed my forehead and stepped back.

"I love you. Promise me you'll remember that."

I didn't respond to that. I just watched as Dad got into his car and drove away, leaving me with other people to look after me. I didn't wait for him to change his mind and turn around. I knew that was impossible. So, I walked up the sidewalk and opened the unlocked front door.

At first, no one was there waiting for me. Then I heard a barely comprehensible cry of, "Chichi!"

The attack hit me at my knees, nearly knocking me over with its impact. Four months ago, I would have swept the attacker up into the air and spun around until we were both breathless. But I wasn't up for that. Instead, I slumped onto the floor and gathered the toddler into my arms for a hug.

"Hey, Jack-Jack," I said.

Jack Hotchner, two years old, grinned at me widely and bounced in my lap. "Hi, Chichi!"

Sometime last year, when Jack had first been learning how to talk, I had tried to teach him my name during a night of babysitting. Jack doesn't have a lisp, but the "r" part of my name was difficult for him to get out. Eventually, he just latched on to the "ch" sound and made up the rest. Since he called me Chichi, I called him Jack-Jack.

"Chichi, play," Jack commanded, as imperious as any toddler.

"Later, Jack, let Rachel get settled first," Haley instructed entering the front hall from the kitchen.

I stood up and gave into Jack's raised arms in a demand to be picked up. Haley approached me, smiling sadly as she always did now whenever she saw me.

"How are you?" she asked kindly.

"I've been better," I answered, the understatement of the year.

"Of course. Aaron took your bag upstairs to the guest room. Would you like to clean up and then we'll have some dinner?"

I nodded. Haley reached for Jack, but I shook my head at that.

"He's fine," I assured her. Having Jack with me meant I had to keep myself together.

I walked upstairs, letting Jack babble in my ear. The guest room was the first door on the right, across from the bathroom. Jack's room was next to that and the master bedroom and bathroom were at the end of the hall. I set Jack down on the floor so he could race into his own room while I entered mine. My suitcase was already next to the closet, so I chucked my back pack on the bed.

Haley had decorated the room in pink, white, and black, from the flouncy bedspread to the floral wall paper. The guest room was larger than my room at Dad's apartment, with a queen sized bed, a long dresser and matching mirror, nightstands on each side of the bed and a comfy arm chair in one corner. The closet was large enough that I could take six steps inside before reaching the back wall.

With a sigh, I began to unpack, knowing the next two weeks would be long. I had school still, but part of the fall out from this recent case that had Dad running for the woods was that Hotch had been suspended for these two weeks as well. Dad hadn't said why and I didn't ask.

I was setting my reading glasses on top of one of the nightstands when Hotch cleared his throat behind me. I turned around, still feeling weird to see him dressed so casually.

"Is everything all right here?" he asked.

"Yeah," I answered. "It's fine."

Hotch quirked a single eyebrow, clearly not believing me and not letting me slide with platitudes.

"Profilers," I complained, rolling my eyes. "It's bad enough getting it from Dad, but now you and Reid are doing it, too."

"Force of habit," Hotch explained. "And only because we worry."

Luckily, Jack burst in at that moment, running past both his father and I to try to leap onto the bed. Stalling, I flopped onto the bed and pulled Jack with me to land on my stomach for just a moment before I lifted him into the air.

Jack shrieked his delight. "Flying! I flying!"

"Super Jack!" I proclaimed, smiling up at him. "Saving the day, one lonely teenaged girl at a time."

While Jack was still giggling, Hotch plucked him out of my hands and began to "fly" him around the room. I sat up and watched.

"Don't get him all riled up!" Haley called from downstairs. "You need to get him cleaned up for dinner!"

Hotch and I shared a glance. "Busted," I said as Hotch came to an immediate stop, making a sound effect like screeching brakes, and headed for the door. He turned back and looked at me.

"I know it seems like you're all alone right now, but you're not," he said to me.

I watched him turn back to his son and then walk out. I sat on the bed for another minute, just attempting to clear my head with little success. I knew Hotch was right, I did. But a part of me wondered if it was too much to ask to have my father around to be with me. I understood that he needed time for himself, too. I knew I had mentally checked out on a lot of days over the summer—okay, close to one out of every three days for at least two months and then one in every five, or once a week right before school started again.

We were both hurting still, I knew this. Maybe Dad and Mom hadn't been traditionally, or even officially, a couple, but I know they had cared for each other. Maybe still loved each other, I don't know for sure. But to have Dad tell me all the time that I needed to talk with someone in order to feel better when he refused was much too hypocritical. And if I wasn't allowed to run away, he shouldn't be either.

Yet there I was, walking downstairs to join the Hotchners for dinner while Dad was off to his cabin.

Haley had made salad, pork chops and mashed potatoes for dinner, with fish fingers for Jack and me. Dad, or more likely Garcia, had told Hotch about my new diet restrictions. Most of the conversation was from Hotch and Haley, planning out the next two weeks to take advantage of Hotch's time off. Jack, thrilled with my presence, made faces at me, showing off open mouthfuls of half-eaten food to me whenever his mother was distracted.

I helped to clean up the dishes even when Haley told me it was unnecessary. Jack got some TV time after dinner, so I took advantage of the time to play my flute before his bed time. Toward the end of my practice, I realized I had an audience.

"Pretty, Chichi."

Jack had come upstairs and sat on the floor behind me. I smiled at him and crooked my finger for him to come closer. After stressing the importance of a gentle touch, I let him finger the tabs on my flute and also had him hold his hand at the end while I blew.

"Bed time, Jack," Haley said from the door.

"Pretty," Jack repeated, reaching up to touch my cheek.

I smiled a watery smile and kissed him on the nose. "Good night, Jack-Jack. Sweet dreams."

"G'night."

Haley and I nodded our good nights to each other and then she closed my door. With Jack about to be asleep, I turned to my other homework, spreading out my books on the bed. Over two hours later, I heard Hotch and Haley getting ready for bed in their room. Hotch must have been taking me seriously earlier because neither of them checked up on me again that night.

One day down, thirteen to go.

.

One night, I woke up after sleeping for a single hour and then couldn't fall back asleep. Around midnight, I headed downstairs, looking for a glass of milk. I would have preferred hot chocolate, but I didn't want to wake Hotch or Haley with a whistling tea kettle.

I sat at the counter, thought, what the heck, and reached for the cookie jar while I was at it. Haley had wheedled my favorite, guilty-pleasure cookie out of me, coming back from her grocery shopping with E.L. Fudge's Double Stuffed fudge cookies. Over my protests, she told me it was for staying home with Jack while she had gone out on errands and Hotch had been at the shooting range to blow off steam.

Sitting in the dark, I munched my cookies, trying not to think about Dad. During the day, I was typically fine, or at least busy enough with school, homework, and practice that I could ignore it. But after a week and a half, I hadn't heard from him at all. Cell reception was spotty, I knew, but I had never in my life gone this long without talking with my father. Even as a small child, living on the opposite side of the country, we had talked at least once a week.

Peevishly, I refused to call him. When someone went off for alone time, it was his job to initiate contact, right?

I was contemplating another handful of cookies when the kitchen light suddenly flipped on, blinding me for a moment. Blinking away dark and light spots, I saw Hotch, wearing a bathrobe over his undershirt and flannel pants.

"I'm sorry," I immediately apologized. "I didn't mean to wake anyone up."

"I wasn't sleeping well, either," Hotch admitted.

Watching me still blink, he turned the light back off. My night vision came back quickly and I saw him retrieve his own glass of milk. I slid the cookie jar over, ducking my head to hide my grin when he dipped his cookies into his milk as eagerly as his son.

"Trouble sleeping?" he asked.

I nodded my head. "Some nights are worse than others, and I miss my cat."

Haley was allergic to cats, so Hannah was currently at the overnight kennel connected to her vet's office. I've had her for eight years and her absence was hitting me hard.

"Not sleeping in your own room can't be helping that," Hotch commented. "Just a few more nights to tough out."

I shrugged. "My room at the apartment still doesn't feel like home," I confessed. "Going back won't make much of a difference."

Hotch didn't say anything to that.

"What about you?" I asked, trying to turn his attention off of me.

At first, Hotch didn't answer. After a bit, he sighed. "There are a lot of things on my mind."

I rolled my eyes. It was such a Dad answer. Anyone could guess there would be a lot of things on Hotch's mind. I would put money down on Hotch worrying about me because he was just like that. Maybe he was worried about Dad, too, like I was. And since he was the unit chief of the BAU, currently suspended, I was fairly sure he was worried about the team.

"Have you heard from him?" Hotch asked. I didn't need to guess who he meant.

"Nope," I answered, trying to sound casual. "I didn't really expect to." Unfortunately, that was the absolute truth.

Hotch nonetheless frowned, his eyes staring at me as if he could see right through me. He was a profiler, so he probably could.

"This last case _was_ difficult for him," Hotch pointed out.

"Is there such a thing as an easy case?" I asked sarcastically.

Hotch smiled his grim smile. "No, not really."

I looked at the clock on the stove top. It was past one in the morning.

"I should try to get some sleep. I have a physics test tomorrow. Well, today, now."

Hotch took our milk glasses and rinsed them out while I put the cookie jar back in its place on the counter.

"You normally have Reid help you with your math and science studying, don't you?" Hotch asked.

"Not because I need him to pass," I objected, slightly sensitive to the topic because of Alicia and her griping.

Hotch raised a hand in defense. "I didn't mean it that way. I was just thinking that you haven't seen him in awhile."

It was true. I used to see Reid about once every two weeks. When he had first joined the team about three years ago, Dad had brought him over to meet Mom and me because the guy didn't know any one else besides Dad himself. I was closer to Reid in a lot of ways than my own brothers.

"He likes homework," I explained. "Half the time, he would just do my work on his own for the fun of it. It was really only with some math that I would specifically ask for help."

Geometry and chemistry were not my friends, so Reid had been a big help with them. I was doing all right on my own for Statistics and Physics so far. But Hotch was right; I hadn't seen him all that much lately. At first, I think he had kept his distance so that Dad and I could have time to grieve. Then maybe he had just been busy with his own work since Dad had been out of the field for so long.

I did miss him. Reid was a super-geek to the extreme and sometimes, I just wanted him to shut up. But he never rambled on about something without reason, it just might take a while to understand the connection. He never got tired of explaining something to me when I didn't get it. He introduced me to some cool, classic TV shows like original series _Star Trek_ and classic _Doctor Who_.

"You're good for him, too," Hotch told me.

I looked at him in surprise and confusion.

"Reid never had a normal childhood," Hotch continued. "Or normal friends for many years. Spending time with you, it gives him a chance at that."

Even in the dark, I hoped Hotch couldn't see my blush. I didn't have a response for that.

"Good night, Rachel," Hotch said, letting me off the hook. "Sleep well."

I managed to say my own good night, then waited for Hotch to go upstairs first. In my guest bed, I stretched out under the covers, falling asleep and dreaming about playing chess in a park. Sometimes, my opponent was Dad, other times, Reid. But where my game with Reid seemed to never end, for the first time in my life, or dream-life, Dad knocked over his king, conceding the game to me.

.

For my last night with the Hotchners, I insisted on making dinner on my own, to thank them for their generosity. I had helped Haley out with past dinners, but this night, I shooed her out of the kitchen so that she and Hotch could both play with Jack. The toddler was bouncing off the walls, having the attention of both his parents.

For a salad, I put baby spinach, red onion, and slices of orange together and drizzled it all with olive oil and balsamic vinegar. I made an eggplant and mushroom lasagna with almost a mountain of mozzarella cheese. For dessert, there were cupcakes with chocolate frosting.

Both Hotch and Haley praised the meal and shared a bottle of wine while I drank iced tea and Jack milk. I snapped a picture on my cell phone of Jack with marinara sauce smeared all over his face. And then I shot another when he got covered in the chocolate frosting.

After dinner, Hotch and Haley did the dishes, talking in hushed tones that I couldn't hear over the sound of the faucet. I took it upon myself to give Jack a bath, trying not to chuckle and encourage him when he wiped a dollop of frosting on my cheek as we walked up the stairs. His parents hadn't come upstairs by the time I was toweling him off, so I helped Jack change into pajamas and pick out a book to read before bedtime.

It took three times reading through Dr. Seuss' _One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish_ before Jack fell asleep. I tucked him in and then entered my guest room to pack up my things.

"Thank you."

I turned around and saw Haley standing in the doorway.

"No problem," I answered. "Thanks for letting me stay with you."

Haley smiled, but the smile didn't reach her eyes. I had seen it on Dad's face often enough to recognize it on others. "Now, your dad will be picking you up after school tomorrow and take you home."

"That's the plan," I agreed before we both said good night to each other.

I didn't mention how I hadn't heard from Dad at all in the past two weeks that he'd been gone. Not a single call, text, or email. I closed my door tightly and then pulled out my phone, pressing the speed dial for Dad's cell.

"Dad, it's Rachel and it's Sunday night. Just calling to make sure you haven't died out there with no one knowing. I'm packed and ready to go, so I guess I'll see you after school tomorrow. I hope you got whatever you wanted out this trip."

I got in bed and pulled out the latest Tamora Pierce novel I had and began to read. It wasn't until after ten that I heard Hotch come up the stairs. I figured he still had a lot on his mind.

The next morning, I woke up, got dressed in the clothes I had saved out, got ready for school and packed up my toiletries. I was the last one to the table as Jack had already woken his parents an hour earlier. Haley and Jack were still in night clothes, but Hotch was already dressed in his usual suit and tie. Haley offered me a waffle and a glass of milk which I ate as Hotch finished his second cup of coffee and Jack worked on his own waffle.

When it was time to leave, I got a hug from Haley and a sticky kiss from Jack.

"Bye, Chichi, bye!"

Hotch drove me to school, on his way to work for the first time in two weeks. Not like he was exactly talkative, but something seemed off in his silence that morning.

"Dad never said," I started hesitantly. "Why it was you got suspended and he took time off."

It's not like I was asking an actual question. And really, it wouldn't be the first time I had ever asked him a question that he didn't answer for whatever reason. I knew he thought it was always for my own good, like Dad, but I thought he stretched a little too often.

"Our superior thought I mishandled our last case," Hotch eventually told me. "Your father felt I was being punished for what he thinks is his mistake."

"Was it?" I asked curiously.

Hotch's lips thinned out on his face. "It was a joint decision."

"Then why is this superior only blaming you?"

"Because she sees what she wants to see," Hotch said grimly.

"Scotoma," I summed up.

Hotch looked over at me in surprise, his eyebrows raised in a silent demand for an explanation.

"It's very educational to listen to Reid when he really gets going," I explained.

Hotch smiled wryly. We drove for another five minutes before I voiced the worry I'd had since I woke up that morning.

"I called Dad last night," I said. "He hasn't called me back."

"I'm sure he just hasn't checked his voice mail yet," Hotch assured me.

"I haven't heard from him at all," I added. "Nothing."

"I haven't heard from him either, but I wasn't expecting to."

Hotch was only reminding me of what Dad could be like. When he didn't want to be disturbed, he made sure that he was unreachable. I knew that. But I couldn't quite believe that he would do this to me now.

"I'll make sure I see him today and tell him to call you back."

I looked over sharply. "Why wouldn't you see him today?"

Hotch sighed and grimaced, like I'd caught him out on some secret. It kind of reminded me of a much sterner version of Hagrid's "I shouldn't've said that," from the movie.

"Hotch," I demanded when he didn't answer me.

"I'm leaving the unit," Hotch said quietly.

I stared, grateful I wasn't driving. "Why?"

"If I don't leave voluntarily, transferring to another unit, then I'll be fired."

"Just because of one mistake?" I asked incredulously.

Hotch shook his head. "No. There's still some fall out from, from the case with your mother and other considerations."

If my heart hadn't stopped already, it certainly had now. I stopped asking questions and just sat in silence until Hotch pulled up to my school. I was scared of what else I would find out. I knew I wasn't stable enough yet to dig for answers like I used to. I couldn't handle it and I definitely didn't want to talk about Mom still.

"I'll make sure your father calls you and you'll see him when he picks you up," Hotch assured me one last time as I opened the door, taking out my back pack and suitcase. I nodded at Hotch, unsure if I should just pretend we hadn't said half of what we'd said to each other or if I should apologize for probing. In the end, Hotch nodded back, reading what I was thinking in my face.

"It will all work out."

"Yeah. Thanks again."

I walked into school—Mr. Rose had said I could keep my suitcase in his office during the day—thinking about how more changes were happening. Dad and Reid and Garcia would be affected by Hotch's absence on the team. And whatever affected Dad affected me. Even when I needed stability the most, there wasn't anything solid.

* * *

Notes:

I was setting up a lot of foreshadowing in this chapter and laying a foundation for the next chapter in Rachel's life. Everything is changing and not very much will remain the same, but I happen to like the changes that I'm writing for her. She might not agree at first, but she, and hopefully all of you, will like the new normal as it settles.

Thanks so much for my reviews! I was over the moon to see 4 already and I sincerely hope that the trend continues. (P.S. Antigona, yes, the oil and water metaphor translates into English). There's still lots of drama ahead of us which I hope will elicit a lot of commentary.

My new update day for this story is Saturday as you may have guessed, so the third chapter will be posted one week from today, next Saturday. Happy reading and can't wait to hear from you all!

Cantoris


	3. Farewell Symphony

_Related episode: 3.2 In Name and Blood_

_Farewell Symphony-composed by Joseph Haydn for his patron, the last movement of the piece instructs each musician to stop playing in turn and actually leave the music hall as part of the performance_

I checked my watch again, noting that I had been waiting outside of school for a full hour. I had called Dad and left him four messages on his voice mail. I had sent him fifteen texts, asking where he was. No response.

I hadn't heard from Dad during the day, so either Hotch hadn't found him like he had promised or Dad just hadn't called me. Sadly, I knew the former was much less likely than the other.

Mark and Liz had both gone home already. I had missed the school bus and the next public bus wouldn't come for another half hour. I was effectively out of options, save one.

Leo's Car Shop was located ten blocks north of school and another three to the east. I hiked out there, still carrying my back pack and suitcase, thankful that it wasn't too cold or raining. I made it there within twenty minutes and walked in the front door. No one was behind the counter, so I left my suitcase in a corner and headed for the garage.

Leo's has four car ports, two of which were currently in use on the ground and one that was raised up. I spotted Michael underneath the closest car on the ground. He had coveralls over his clothes and rolled out from under the car when I nudged his leg with my foot.

"Rachel?" He looked utterly shocked to see me. Fair enough, I was surprised myself. "What are you doing here?"

"Dad never showed," I answered.

Michael got to his feet and grabbed a nearby cloth to begin wiping his hands of grease. While he did that, he checked his own watch for the time.

"Have you heard from him?"

"Nothing. I've been calling and texting for the past hour."

Michael frowned then walked me back to the customer waiting room and through another door to what I assumed was the employee break room or something like it. I collapsed on the beat up couch, closing my eyes against tears.

"I don't know what to do," I admitted.

"What about the other people on your dad's team?" Michael asked, sitting next to me.

"If I can't reach Dad, why would I be able to reach one of them?"

"You're assuming your dad is with them," Michael pointed out.

I sighed and lifted my head. "Point."

I pulled out my phone again, dialing Reid. If Hotch had gone and left the team, then talking with him wouldn't accomplish anything. When Reid didn't pick up, I left him a voice mail, asking if he'd seen or heard from Dad today. My second call to Garcia finally got me a living person.

_ "What's the story, morning glory?"_

"I don't know where Dad is," I blurted out. "I haven't heard back from him all day, he didn't pick me up like he was supposed to."

_"Where are you now?"_ Garcia demanded.

I looked at Michael, sitting in silence next to me. "I'm with a friend. Should I go back to the apartment?"

_ "Not alone. Can you stay with this friend tonight?"_

Michael, able to hear, shook his head. Considering he never wanted me over in case we bumped into his father, I knew that would be the answer anyway.

"No," I said.

_"All right. The team—what's left of it—is in Milwaukee right now and I can't get away. I'm calling Hotch to tell him what's going on. Hopefully, you can stay with him until we get this figured out. Okay, chickadee? Now, I'm reading your phone at 2342 West Meyer Road, is that right?"_

"Yeah."

_ "Stay where you are until Hotch or Haley comes to get you, okay? We'll work this out, I promise."_

I hung up and slipped my phone back into my pocket. Michael and I were silent until he leaned over and bumped my shoulder with his.

"Maybe your dad just lost track of the days," he suggested, half-heartedly. "You know, thinks it's Saturday instead of Monday."

We both knew that was unlikely and I let out a quick burst of laughter at the thought. Then I kept laughing until I transitioned into mild hysterics. Michael wrapped an arm around my shoulders and held me close until they died down.

"I'm really scared," I whispered.

"They'll find him," Michael reassured me.

"But why did he disappear? How could he do this to me?"

"I don't know."

There was nothing else to do or say, so we sat and waited in silence until I saw Haley's car pull up. Michael carried my suitcase for me, promising to see me the next day in school. I thanked him, shallow as the words were for what he did for me.

Haley herself was tense in the driver's seat with Jack bouncing in his car seat in the back at seeing me again. Haley was so off, that aside from asking how I was, she didn't say anything else as she drove back to her house.

"I'm sorry," I apologized quietly. I felt like even more of a burden now. Haley had her own son to take care of and I was turning out to be more complicated and needy day by day.

Haley glanced over at me quickly. "You have nothing to apologize for," she told me sternly. "What is happening right now is not your fault."

The way she said it made me think she was deliberately not saying whose fault she thought it was. Considering I was blaming Dad quite strongly, I couldn't blame her.

At the house, Haley unloaded Jack while I grabbed my stuff, entering the front door again because I had to, not because I wanted to. With Haley just as quiet as I was, even Jack got a little cranky. Haley decided on an early dinner of chicken nuggets for the boy and salads for us, with an early bedtime for Jack soon after.

"Is Hotch still at the office?" I asked after Jack had gone to bed and Haley and I were sitting in the family room.

"He's in Milwaukee," Haley ground out.

I frowned. "I thought he was quitting the BAU."

If Haley was surprised I knew that, she didn't show it and focused on her anger instead. "He said he was. He says he still will. But he won't."

"Is that such a bad thing?" I asked, still confused. Was Haley the real reason Hotch was leaving the team? I had thought she was supportive of him and the job.

"Why would he want this job when he can transfer to a post that would allow him to come home every night?" Haley asked somewhat rhetorically. "It never stops. He's never here when I need him to be."

At that point, I don't think it mattered that I was there or not. Haley was just venting and I just happened to be present. After several minutes though, Haley did seem to remember that I was there.

"Oh, Rachel, I'm sorry. You didn't need to hear all that." She sighed. "I think I might call my sister. You have your own worries right now."

I nodded and went back to my guest bedroom which after two full weeks felt almost as familiar as my room at Dad's. I tried to focus on my homework, but my attention kept wandering. I was scared, worried, confused. I felt alone and abandoned. And on top of all that, I was really missing my cat.

Haley's mood hadn't improved by morning and neither had mine. We decided to leave my suitcase and things at the house until my situation was worked out. At times, I couldn't believe that I had no idea where I was going to be sleeping the next night. I could still be with the Hotchners, Dad could suddenly show up out of the blue, or I couldn't even think of anything else.

Just about everyone knew something was wrong with me that day during school, but no one approached me about it. Mark just asked if I was having a bad day, thinking it had to do with Mom's death. Not that _that_ pain ever went away, so I let him believe that was the reason. Only Michael knew the truth and he watched me all day, offering his silent support.

Having no update from anyone, I caught one of the school buses to Hotch's neighborhood. And as if my life wasn't complicated enough, I got another surprise. There were suitcases in the front hall when I walked in. Mine wasn't among them so I knew I wasn't being kicked out. Instead, I saw what had to be bags of Haley and Jack's things, piled and ready to go.

Haley found me standing in shock.

"Rachel."

"You're leaving him," I said emotionlessly.

Maybe it wasn't my place to comment, but I couldn't help it. And Haley did answer me.

"We're going to stay with my sister and her family. Aaron will be back tonight and he should have word on your father. But I can't stay any more, not when he always places his job before his family."

"You honestly think that's what he's doing?" I asked. "I thought that you were okay with his job."

"Not any more."

"This will kill him," I told her. I thought of how my mother had always insisted that I know my father and spend time with him. Granted, I wasn't such a fan of my dad lately, but still.

"It will kill me. I can't wait for Aaron to turn into your father."

It felt like a physical blow, as if Haley had slapped me across my face. I staggered and sat down hard on the stairs, absolutely stunned.

Haley was instantly apologetic. "Rachel, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that."

I buried my face in my hands. "I'm fine," I mumbled. "It's fine."

"Rachel…"

"It's okay."

"No, I should—"

I shook my head. "No. You should go, I'll be all right."

Haley didn't ask for my help, loading the bags into her car, and I didn't offer. I sat with Jack in my lap as she went back and forth until nothing else was left to take. We traded subdued "good byes" and I watched her drive away, leaving me alone in their house.

I forced myself to concentrate on my homework as I was now behind and to distract myself. It only barely worked, but I managed to do it. Then, there was nothing left for me to do except wait for Hotch. I skipped dinner, having no appetite, and tried watching TV.

Around seven o'clock, I heard the front door open and close. I listened to Hotch's footsteps as he walked around the ground level of the house, probably noting where items were missing.

"Haley?"

I turned the TV off and waited for Hotch to find me, which he did about a minute later. I don't know what he saw on my face, but I could tell he figured something out just by looking at me. He came and sat down next to me on the couch and we both sat in silence for almost ten minutes.

"She's gone."

It was kind of half way between a question and a statement. Like when you truly do know the answer, but you ask anyway, either to hear it confirmed or denied. Hotch kind of sounded like he expected it, too. I really had no idea how to answer him.

"Yeah." It was really all I could say. And I had a question-statement of my own. "He's not coming back."

Hotch hesitated just as I had. And he answered me just as honestly and simply as I had. "I don't think so."

I had never really thought of Hotch and I having a lot in common. Besides the obvious gender and age differences, we were on the opposite side of the parent/child relationship. Sure, I could kind of keep up talking about profiling and Hotch knew about musicals, but that had been about it.

And in a single day, that changed. There we sat, each abandoned by the person we least expected and most needed. Only, I had never expected my dad to actually leave without saying anything to me. Let alone leave me less than six months after my mom was killed. I still couldn't wrap my head around it.

Hotch got up and headed for the kitchen. Moments later, he was back, holding a glass of amber colored liquid in one hand and a bottle of root beer in the other. I caught a whiff of his drink; I didn't know what it was, but it was strong. I drank half the root beer in one go, swallowing reflexively.

"What happens now?" I asked quietly.

Hotch sipped from his glass. "Reid went to your father's cabin," he said. "To see if…if he's still there or if he left anything."

I could tell there was something Hotch was thinking that he wasn't telling me. But maybe he was also thinking about Haley and Jack, so I didn't press the issue. So I nodded my understanding and tried not to chug the last of my soda.

A couple of hours later, when Hotch caught me nodding off, he sent me off to sleep. I crawled into bed and slept sporadically throughout the night. My dreams when I did sleep were not pleasant. I dreamed I was back at my home, watching Frank butcher my mom. This time, Dad did burst in to the save the day, only to be cut down as well. I dreamed of walking through the school at night when no one else was there, my steps echoing in the still hallways. I dreamed of Mark kissing me only to reach into my chest and pull out my still beating heart.

Finally, I just stayed awake and watched the sun rise. The house was deadly quiet, like the school in my dream. I dressed for the day in black jeans, a black tank top, and a gray sweater. Dressing to fit my mood, definitely. I found Hotch downstairs, already drinking a cup of coffee and dressed in his customary suit and tie.

Hotch looked up and eyed me critically. "Did you sleep at all?"

"Not really," I said. After two weeks, I knew the kitchen lay out well enough to grab a mug and the hot chocolate. I put water in the kettle to boil and dumped two packets of chocolate powder into the mug. The hot chocolate version of a double shot.

"Reid called me last night," Hotch said when I sat down.

"Dad wasn't at the cabin," I guessed, fairly certain of the answer.

Hotch shook his head. "He left letters. One for you, one for Reid."

Well, I always figured Dad saw Reid like his own son. I wondered if my half-brother Stephen got a letter, too. On that subject, I couldn't be sure.

"I called your school and explained the situation to your principal," Hotch continued. "You'll be coming into the office with me today and we'll see if we can't—sort this out."

"Like where I'll be sleeping tonight?" I asked bitterly.

Hotch waited until I looked up and met his eyes.

"You'll stay with me until we know for sure what's going to happen," he told me firmly. "I'll have Garcia start calling your brothers and other relatives when she gets in this morning."

"I won't be a burden," I snapped. "You have your own problems, you don't need to take care of me."

Hotch stared me down. "You are not a burden. And I won't turn you out when you have no place to go despite my own situation."

It took me a while before I realized what was going on. Hotch was the leader of the team, he took care of the others in addition to leading them. With Dad gone, I was now Hotch's to protect, and with Haley and Jack gone, I was a distraction and a fill-in for those protective instincts.

We didn't have a lot of conversation after that. Hotch drove us to the BAU, stopping at the front desk for my visitor's pass. We were early enough that only half the bull pen was full. Out of the team, only Reid was there. He looked close to how I felt, crushed and numb at the same time.

"Let's take this to my office," Hotch said, glancing around at the other people. Reid and I followed silently, though Reid did reach out and grab my hand. It was so unexpected, but so right, I held on and squeezed tightly.

As soon as Hotch closed the door behind us, he asked, "What did you find?"

I sank down into one of the chairs while Reid sat in the other and Hotch took his seat behind his desk.

"The cabin itself was cleaned out except for furniture," Reid began. "Gideon's gun and badge were on the kitchen table along with the letters."

Reid reached into his leather messenger bag and took out two simple, white envelopes. I recognized Dad's scrawled penmanship, with "Spencer" written on the envelope that was already opened, and "Rachel" on the still sealed envelope. Reid handed the second over to me, but I didn't open it right away.

"Basically, he told me that he's lost his center and believes that he can't do the job any more," Reid summed up. He glanced at me quickly before turning back to Hotch. "I don't know why he left though."

Holding my letter in my hands, I wondered what Dad had left for me. Maybe he even answered that question but I still couldn't bring myself to read it just yet.

"I don't think we would find him, but I'll ask Garcia to try," Hotch said. "In the meanwhile, I'll contact Rachel's brothers to inform them of what is happening."

"I don't want to move," I said quietly. "Scott won't want anything to do with me anyway. Alan is back in Africa, and I don't want to move to San Francisco with John."

"You might not have a choice," Hotch told me gently.

I held back tears through sheer force of will. I just couldn't imagine having to move across the country and try to fit into a new school on top of all this other emotional crap.

Hotch turned back to Reid. "When the rest of the team gets in this morning, I'll call them up to tell them about Jason." He checked his watch. "Garcia should be in any minute. I'll head to her office to get her started. Reid, why don't you come with me to help her?"

The question seemed rhetorical, just Hotch giving me time alone in his office to read my letter. I whispered my thanks and waited for both men to leave before breaking the seal.

_Dear Rachel,_

_ I know you don't understand why I'm doing this, and I wish I could give you a reason you could understand. I never thought that I would ever leave you behind, especially after everything that has happened. But I know that I can't take care of you the way I should right now. I won't say that this is for the best, but I think that this will hurt you less in the long term._

_ Truthfully, I should have kept my distance from the start. If your mother and I hadn't made the arrangement we did to raise you, you both would never have been in Frank's path. I can never tell you enough how sorry I am that happened, Rachel. It was the last thing I ever wanted._

_ Looking at you every day reminded me of what you had lost and what I had lost. You lost the most important person to you in the world. I lost my faith and strength to be a parent. It wasn't until this last case that I truly realized how broken I was._

_ You've always resented when I compared you to the victims I see, but this was impossible. The girls who were killed were brunettes, killed on their college campus. I was so reminded of your mother and of you, I couldn't even tell the difference between you and the victims. That's when I decided to leave._

_ I can't be the father you need right now, so I won't hurt you by trying to be and failing. I've already failed you so completely. I hope that one day, you will come to accept this and forgive me. If you don't, I understand that._

_ I'm so sorry. I love you so much, Rae, and I still and always will love you, no matter where I am. Always remember that._

I couldn't believe it. I was too shocked to even cry.

* * *

Notes:

Some more on the Haydn story: what happened is that his patron, Prince Esterhazy, had kept the whole retinue at the summer palace longer than expected and the grunts wanted to get home to their wives and families. Haydn, known as the father of the symphony, wrote No. 45 in F sharp minor to make a point with the musicians leaving one by one until just he and the concert master was left playing violins. And it worked because they left for home the next day. There, now everyone learned something about music history today.

About this chapter: it was very difficult to write. I've had it plotted out literally from when I began writing this back in _Mvt I_, but it wasn't easy to actually get typed out due to the emotional drama. For awhile, I did consider all the other options to take from this point, like Gideon retiring but sticking around, or even moving with Rachel somewhere else (that one was easily dismissed for obvious reasons). But really, it had to be this way. My reasoning is, if Gideon could leave the whole team like he did, he could leave his daughter for the reasons that I've had him admit to Rachel. Could there be more to it? Sure, but I'm not going to write it. I leave that to your personal imaginings just like with Gideon and Sarah's relationship. And believe me, the drama is far from over. No one loses both parents in less than a year without it affecting them somehow.

As far as feedback goes, keep it up! I am so stoked to see that both chapters got four reviews each, I can't even tell you all. Let's see if we can keep that trend going, yeah? Thank you so much for showing me how much you appreciate my work. The next chapter will be posted next Saturday so keep your eyes open!

Cantoris


	4. Key Change

_Related episode: 3.4 Children of the Dark_

_Key Change-a type of modulation in harmony when the key of the piece is changed, altering the tonic center of the piece  
_

My brother, John Jacobs, kept looking back and forth between Hotch and me. It was almost like he didn't know who he needed to convince.

"I wish I could take you in, Rachel," John said, looking at me only to turn and face Hotch. "My wife's father is already moving in with us for care. Also—" Here, John hesitated before turning back to me. "Kat is pregnant. We found out right after the funeral. And, well, we already know from the ultrasounds that we're having twins. We just won't have room for you."

If Mom had been alive, John would have called her as soon as he knew Kat was pregnant. She would have been his first call after each appointment and Mom would have told me right away. But if Mom were alive, I wouldn't need a new home to begin with.

"Rachel, I'm sorry, I really am. Agent Hotchner, I can't tell you how much I appreciate what you've done for my sister. And I don't want you to think that I'm turning Rachel away. It's just, my wife and I spent days talking this out and we can't think of any way to make it all work."

Hotch's face was completely closed off. I couldn't tell what he was thinking at all. I wouldn't want to be playing poker against that face.

"I understand your brother Scott is also unwilling?" Hotch asked for confirmation.

John sighed. "Don't bother with Scott. He hardly speaks to me as it is. And I've been trying to reach Alan, but he's out of communications range for the next month. At best, it will take one of the local messengers a week to get to him and another week for him to get back where we can talk with him."

"Excuse me," I said, not really waiting for permission.

I walked out of Hotch's office, through the bull pen and ignoring the looks from Reid, Morgan, and Prentiss, and headed straight for the women's bathroom. John had arrived this afternoon and met Hotch and me here at the BAU after school to discuss my options. I know it had been Hotch's plan for John to offer to take me in, in the aftermath of Mom's death and Dad's abandonment. And even though I didn't want to move all the way to San Francisco, it still hurt that John didn't offer. I had thought he was one of my brothers that I could count on. Just goes to show.

Legally, there was a vacuum. Mom's will named Dad my guardian and with him gone, there was no instruction for what to do after that. And Dad hadn't left any instruction about my welfare when he left for parts unknown.

Why did Dad leave? Hotch's theory is that I reminded him of his failure. Reid told me that Dad had told him that he just didn't understand life any longer. I thought he was a coward.

I splashed water on my face to hide the traces of fresh tears and left the bathroom. Instead of returning to Hotch's office where I saw him and John still talking, I made a beeline for Reid's desk. Dr. Spencer Reid was Dad's protégé on the Behavior Analysis Unit in the FBI. I always figured that Dad saw Reid more as a son so he was always bringing him along for family dinners. In all honesty, I knew Reid better than John or any of my other brothers. And vice versa.

Reid's desk was covered in file folders, but he wordlessly cleared off a section so I could hop up and sit. Reid even reached into one of his drawers and handed me a Heath bar. I unwrapped the candy and chewed methodically.

"No San Francisco?" Reid asked. He was a profiler like all the others and probably read my facial features.

I shook my head, beyond used to rarely keeping secrets from him about my emotions. "I didn't want to go anyway," I said.

Reid also knew me personally well enough to leave it at that.

"You know, my dad left me when I was ten years old," Reid told me randomly.

I looked up in surprise. If he was trying to distract me, it was working; I had always wanted to know about Reid's family but Dad had always told me not to bring it up.

"And my mom is schizophrenic, so I was always taking care of her more than she was of me," Reid went on.

"And now Dad walked out on you, too," I said.

Reid winced. "Yeah. And both times, I was left with a letter."

Damn. I wouldn't say that I thought Reid had it worse than me—his mother was still alive at least—but I couldn't imagine being abandoned by two father figures. Then again, I felt like I was being abandoned by John, so it wasn't that far off.

Some of that must have been showing on my face because Reid reached out and took my hand.

"We'll take care of you, Rachel," he said fiercely. "_I_ won't leave you."

"You're a better brother than the ones related to me," I confessed. I was rewarded with a sheepish grin.

Morgan, who had been tactfully ignoring us for privacy, snapped his fingers to get our attention. "Heads up, man."

John and Hotch were coming out of his office and walking down the stairs. Reid let go of my hand and pulled up the nearest file to work on. I reluctantly stood up and met the men at the bottom of the steps.

"Rachel," John tried to apologize again.

I shook my head. "It's okay. Tell Kat good luck."

I let myself be hugged and then watched my only hope for a home walk out. Once he was gone, I could practically feel Hotch radiate disapproval.

"He has his own family," I found myself defending my brother. "And we were never that close."

Hotch shot me a sidelong glance. "That's no excuse."

When I didn't agree or disagree, because I wasn't sure how I really felt, Hotch sighed and reached into his pocket. He handed me a pair of keys.

"He said that you had worked out an agreement to swap cars."

Actually, John and Dad had worked that out right after Mom died. John and Kat wanted Mom's Suburban and planned to trade me for Kat's Corolla with cash to cover the price difference.

"I'll have Garcia handle the finances and title transfer," Hotch told me.

"Thank you," I told him. I was thanking him a lot lately for a lot of reasons.

"There's still your brother Alan, and Garcia is tracking down Jason's son."

I shook my head again. "I don't want Alan to give up a career he loves just for me. Stephen is a stranger, I've never met him."

Hotch had nothing to say to that. I really felt bad that he had to watch out for me in the mean time. On the same day we realized that Dad was gone for good, Hotch's wife Haley had left him. Part of me wanted to tell him to forget about me, but I wasn't brave or selfless enough. Right now, Hotch and the team were the only people who knew what my life was like. They were there when Mom had been killed and they had all be left by Dad like I was. I couldn't lose them, too.

"I should get back to work," Hotch said. "Now that you have a car here, do you want to go back to the house? I'll be home later."

"I'll stop and see Garcia first, but sure," I answered.

There was a ghost of a smile on Hotch's face. "Of course. If you left without saying hello, it would be disastrous."

My back pack was still at Reid's desk from when I had first arrived. As I walked down the aisle, both Morgan and Prentiss gave me encouraging nods. Reid stood up when I got to him.

"We'll work something out," he promised me. "You're not alone."

I sniffed back tears. Those words were the nicest things to hear. "Thanks, Reid."

"You know, you could call me Spencer."

I sniffed back more tears. "Thanks, Spencer."

There was an awkward moment when I wasn't sure if he would hug me. Reid, Spencer, didn't touch people very often, so I was surprised when he bent over a little and wrapped his arms around me. I leaned into him a little and then pulled back. Any more touchy-feely stuff and I was going to break down. Again.

I pulled away from Reid and said my good byes to Morgan and Prentiss. Even if I wasn't as close to them as Reid, Hotch, and Garcia, they were already more constant than my own family. I was beginning to realize that that counted for more than genetics.

I found my way to Garcia's office easily, having visited there as often as Hotch's office and Reid's desk. Though no profiler, Garcia still only had to look at my face to know what had happened.

"Oh, chickadee. Do you want me to trash his credit?"

Garcia's threat wasn't idle. I was no expert of computers, but I didn't need to be in order to know that Garcia was the goddess of the technological and cyber worlds. Add that to being fiercely protective and Garcia made for a dangerous enemy.

"No," I answered. "They've got a senior citizen moving in and twins on the way."

"Still no excuse," Garcia groused, an eerie echo of Hotch's sentiment. She turned back to her keyboards and clicked away for a moment before turning back to me.

"I'm already seeing a transfer into your trust fund from your brother's shared account," she informed me matter-of-factly, as if it wasn't a big deal to hack into my online banking records. "Guilt money?"

Not like I took it personally. "For the car swap."

The queen of information grumbled and danced her fingers across the keyboards again. "Consider the title transferred to your name as we speak. And I'll play around with your trust so that you have a nice sum of money when you're twenty one."

As far as I understood it, the money from selling our old house was enough to buy another one. That plus my share of Mom's insurance policy made me feel rich even if I was no such thing. Now, with Dad gone, I had apparently inherited Dad's cabin out in the woods and a portion of his pension. Selling the cabin would get me another chunk of change I was told.

But my head was spinning and I just wanted to go—well, not home as I didn't really have one, but at least back to my room at Hotch's house. So I made my excuses to Garcia and tracked down my new car in the parking lot. John must have driven it here and then called a cab to his hotel, or the airport for all I knew and cared.

The late model Corolla was burgundy colored and a good size for me. Inside, I found all the compartments had been emptied, as well as the three slot CD changer. Having none on me, I turned the radio onto the local classical station.

I held myself together on the drive, adjusting to the gears and other necessary features. Once I got to the house and went up to my room, I stopped putting on an act. My face crumbled even though my eyes stayed dry. I had thought I felt alone before, it was nothing compared to how I felt now. John had been my last option, no matter what Hotch thought of my remaining two brothers. How was it possible that I could have four brothers, all old enough to become my legal guardian, and have no place to go?

Eventually, I started to resign myself to entering the foster care system. Or maybe I could petition for emancipation. Technically, I had the money now.

Hours later, Hotch came home with his poker face still on. I figured he was either still upset at John or he had tried talking with Haley again. He was always careful to make those calls when I wasn't around, but I could always tell when they had happened. And from Hotch's stoic demeanor, Haley was still refusing to come back.

Personally, I actually tried not to think about it too much. As much as I liked both Hotch and Haley, I did think they both had a point. And I had my own problems to deal with, as selfish as that sounded.

The next morning, despite my new car ownership, I still had to be driven to school by Hotch. Car I had, parking space in the student lot I did not. I turned in my homework for each class, but unlike my previous two years of high school, I did not actively participate during class. While all of my teachers had expressed their understanding, especially once news of Dad's departure got around the rumor mill, I could tell that most of them worried about me. But even that concern felt far removed, so I paid it little attention.

During the morning, I got a text message from Hotch that the team had gone out on a case. I caught the bus to the right neighborhood. I was a good little girl and did my homework, ate dinner, cleaned up, and answered when Garcia called to check up on me. I had to take the bus to school the next morning and started my day again.

At lunch, I sat with Mark and wondered again at how he put up with me. Any other guy would probably have written me off months ago, but Mark continued to sit with me, talk with me, kiss me.

"Sorry, what?" I had to ask at one point during the conversation.

Mark smiled patiently at me even when the others around the table sighed at my lack of attention again. "I was saying, my parents will be out late tonight and they agreed I could have people over."

He looked so hopeful, but didn't directly ask me if I would come. He kept waiting for me in more ways than one. And whenever we were together, the little cold spot in my core started to thaw.

"What time should I come over?" I asked, injecting a little enthusiasm into my tone.

Mark smiled brightly and leaned in close to kiss my cheek. "Whenever you want," he whispered in my ear.

With Hotch out of town, I planned with Mark to go home with him directly after school. So after my US History AP class, I went to my locker and packed up for the day. I was about to go when Michael approached me.

Michael also knew me well enough to read beneath my face mask. Wordlessly, he reached out and squeezed my shoulder.

"What happens now?" he asked.

I shrugged painfully. "Foster care I guess. I was giving emancipation serious consideration."

"I'll be a legal adult in May," Michael reminded me. "Just wait that long and then we'll find someplace together."

Unlike me, Michael has been waiting to leave home since he was thirteen. His mother had walked out on him and his father was a drunk.

"This summer," I agreed.

Michael nodded toward someone over my shoulder. "Prince Charming is here."

He disappeared when I turned to look and I let him. It may have been awkward, having a guy best friend and a boyfriend at the same time, but I didn't know what I would do without either Mark or Michael. I couldn't lose another person in my life and stay sane. I just couldn't.

Mrs. Amborn, Mark's mother, picked us up and drove us home. She was very sympathetic to me and fussed until I convinced her I was really okay. Most of that was a lie, but Mrs. Amborn was no profiler. Even when she was gone, Mark and I played it safe, concentrating on homework while his parents got ready for their night out. They were gone by five and kids started to come at five thirty. By six, the stereo was blaring in one room, the TV was showing a movie in the basement, and we had called out for pizzas.

All told, there were only around twenty five of us in the house at any given time. And despite what movies will have you believe, nothing was out of control. Most of us were music students or jocks, with a spring break tour or athletic practices to insure our good behavior. Sure, there was something extra in the punch, and I knew a few kids were smoking outside, but it didn't seem like anything was getting out of hand.

I was content to sit next to Mark as the small party sounded around us. After some initial hesitation, I eventually had my own cup of spiked punch. It felt like fire going down my throat and I needed that. I was tired of feeling numb.

Around ten thirty, the music changed its tempo to something less frantic and more intimate. I was so aware of Mark's arm around my shoulders, his fingers rubbing the bare skin of my arm. But this was also the most social I'd been in awhile and I was starting to get uncomfortable.

"Want to get some air?" Mark suggested.

"Yeah, can we?"

Instead of outside, Mark led me up the stairs to his bedroom. I had been there before, for both innocent reasons and several make out sessions. Looking at his bed and hearing the faint _thrum_ of the music downstairs, I made up my mind.

As soon as Mark closed his door, I faced him and took my shirt off. I hadn't been thinking of sex this morning when I got dressed, but at least my bra was lavender colored and a silky material. Mark looked at me for a breath before reaching behind himself to lock the door. In two steps, he was right in front of me, seizing my face in his hands and kissing me hungrily.

I kissed back, trying to feed the fire deep in my belly to burn away all the cold. I reached for his own shirt, pulling at it until Mark broke off and tore it off and over his head. When we came back together, his right hand wrapped around my back to pull me close and the other made its exploration over my neck, shoulder, rib cage, and breast.

My own hands mapped out his pectorals and abdominals, feeling the runner's physique.

"Are you sure?" Mark asked. He'd been waiting on me for awhile.

"Yes," I gasped. "Please." Please make the cold go away. Please love me, please don't leave me.

With that last shred of self-restraint appeased, Mark gently but forcibly nudged me to his bed, stopping when my legs hit the mattress. The hand that was wound around me reached up and unhooked my bra with quick motions. Mark stepped back to let the garment fall to the floor.

Both of us breathing heavily, Mark reached out and caressed my bare skin, movements gentle and needy at the same time. Gathering my courage, I reached out and undid the button on his jeans, tracing the skin at the edge of his boxers. Mark's hips hitched forward involuntarily and his hissed out his breath. In seconds, he was completely naked. Seconds after that, I stepped out of my own pants and underwear.

There was nothing after that but skin-on-skin and erratic breathing. Mark gave me a hickey on my collar bone; I left scratch marks on his shoulders from the first spike of pain. I had known the birds and the bees since second grade thanks to my doctor mother, so the pain wasn't a surprise (though that detail hadn't been learned until I was fourteen).

When I looked at the clock while trying to catch my breath, I was surprised to note only a half hour had passed. It had felt like longer.

"Um, I should start telling everyone to go home," Mark spoke. "I'm sure Mom would let you stay and sleep on the couch."

I shook my head, feeling strange and unattached. "That's all right."

"If you're sure."

We got up and started pulling our clothes back on. I checked myself in the bathroom mirror before following Mark downstairs. I hadn't been wearing any make up to smudge and I finger-combed my hair back into order. But I looked the same: pale skin, tired eyes, a mouth more prone to frowning than smiling lately. And despite what I had felt moments ago, I was back to feeling numb and hollow.

Downstairs, half the kids were gone and the other half were pitching in to clean up. When they saw me, I realized that everyone guessed what had happened. I saw knowing smirks, judgmental eyes, and even sniffs of disapproval. I heard loud voices in the next room, Mark's among them. He was being teased, sure, but mostly I heard approval and encouragement.

I found my back pack and jacket and fled the house. At the end of the driveway, I pulled out my phone and called Michael. Thankfully, he didn't ask me questions over the phone and he didn't ask questions while he drove me to Hotch's house. He just did what I asked and let me decide when to tell him what had happened. But I didn't want to talk about it that night.

I thought I could just go inside, take a shower, and crawl into bed. It wasn't until I was about to walk up the stairs and the living room light clicked on that I realized I wasn't alone.

"Rachel."

Hotch was sitting in a chair, giving me his very best stern expression. A look I realized he must use on suspects under interrogation.

"I didn't know you were coming back tonight," I commented, stalling for time.

"If you had actually spoken with Garcia tonight instead of texting your response, you would have known we were close to finishing the case," Hotch explained.

I had ignored Garcia's check in call that night and had sent a text saying I was going to bed early.

While I waited, Hotch stood up and walked toward me. I had seen him angry a couple of days ago, and now he was angry with me. Part of me realized that I should be somewhat afraid, but I still felt unattached from the world.

"We'll discuss this tomorrow," Hotch said firmly, his tone promising that I was in for it.

But I just nodded my agreement and carried out my original plan. I felt nothing while I showered, even when washing my body, and I lay in shock on the bed, trying to fall asleep.

At that point, nothing really mattered.

* * *

Notes:

So, I'm really curious as to how people will react to this chapter. I'm just going to say, please no one judge Rachel too harshly, or her family. I think everyone understands why the cards had to fall this way so I did the best I could to write it out accordingly. I'm not setting out to write anyone as a bad person, just a real one.

Thank you all so much for the comments you're leaving. When I read things like this is the best CM story someone's read, it makes me ridiculously happy. Thanks again, you all have no idea how much it means to me. Next chapter will be out next Saturday, but sadly, that will be the last one for a few months. This is part of my "updating" in spurts thing which I'm going to experiment with for this movement.

Happy reading!

Cantoris


	5. Overtones

_Overtones-the added frequencies that sound with a given pitch, creating lingering harmonics  
_

The morning after I lost my virginity, I woke up and tried to remember why I had done it. I liked Mark and I would probably have slept with him at some point, but the previous night, I had just wanted to _feel_, feel anything besides the numb shock that I was living with since Mom had died and had gotten worse when Dad left. I had thought that feeling something was better than feeling nothing.

And I was back to feeling hollow again anyway. And I really, really, just wanted to talk to my mom about what had happened. I had never wanted to talk with Mom more than I did right now in my life. And that I couldn't hurt like a knife through my heart.

I dressed on auto pilot and went down the stairs to face my judgment. Hotch didn't know what I had done, he just knew that I hadn't been where I was supposed to be, and I had come in past midnight. I had no idea what he would do to me if he did know the details.

The kitchen felt chilly and tense while Hotch and I fixed and ate our respective breakfasts. I kept waiting for the axe to fall just to get it over with, but Hotch remained silent. Finally, after his second cup of coffee, Hotch spoke.

"You and I are going to have a long conversation when you get home from school today. Whatever is going on, whatever you are feeling, it is no excuse for acting recklessly. Understood?"

I didn't respond, but since I didn't argue, Hotch took it as consent. With nothing else to say immediately, I finished my breakfast. Hotch drove me to school and dropped me off, reminding me to come straight home.

And really, I had every intention of doing so, if it weren't for what happened between first and second period. As I headed for study hall, I heard sounds of a fight in the hallway to my left. It wasn't until I recognized both arguing voices that I darted down the hall and pushed my way through the gawking students.

Michael and Mark were going at it, fists swinging, shoving each other into lockers, and kicking out. I saw several teachers coming, alerted by students and the sounds. Before they got there, I pushed my way past the last kid, waited for an opening, and then jumped between the two guys. Mark's elbow caught my cheekbone and Michael's foot connected with my shin before they both realized I was there.

"Rachel!"

"What the hell are you doing?" I demanded, fixing both of them in my gaze.

"He just attacked me!" Mark defended himself.

"I heard him talking with his friends," Michael said quietly but vehemently. "I told him to leave you alone and he said to make him."

I looked at Mark, wondering not only what he had been saying about me, what private details he had shared, and also wondering if he had meant to provoke Michael to fight.

Seeing that I wasn't immediately jumping to his defense, Mark scoffed at both of us. "Rachel, I think I've put up with him as your friend long enough. If we're going to keep seeing each other, I don't want you to have anything to do with him. Choose."

"Him," I answered quickly. The decision was so easy that I didn't even have to think about it.

Both of them were shocked. "You'd choose him over me?" Mark demanded. "Why?"

"Because he never asked me to choose," I answered.

"Unbelievable. You're seriously—"

The arriving teachers cut Mark off from whatever he was about to say, and while they were distracted with Mark and everyone else jumping up to say what had happened, I grabbed Michael's hand and started for the closest exit. I was limping, but Michael caught on and helped me walk until we made our escape from school. We kept going until we were well beyond school property and made it to a public park, practically deserted at this time of day.

At first, we just collapsed on a park bench and caught our breath. After awhile, the severity of our actions started to sink in. I was in so much trouble.

"I'm sorry," Michael apologized quietly.

I started in surprise. "What do you have to be sorry for?"

"I shouldn't have confronted him," he explained. "You didn't tell me what happened, but I heard him talking about—" here Michael stumbled over his words "—about how nice it was that you finally, did it, with him and that it was about time. Then I realized why you had been so upset, and that's when I told him to stay away from you."

I choked back some combination of laughter and tears, holding it all down with visible effort.

"Rachel, did he, did he hurt you?" Michael asked me.

I shook my head. "No, not like that."

Michael sighed in exasperation and disgust. "Damn it. I thought I could claim justification."

I sighed as well. "It sounded like he provoked you, though."

"I'm still sorry that he gave you an ultimatum."

"I am, too," I agreed honestly. Mark wasn't a bad guy, but I should have known it wouldn't last between us when I realized how much I felt I couldn't confide with him. "But it wasn't a hard question."

Michael blushed. I smiled at him, and then winced at feeling the beginning of what would be a beautiful bruise on my face.

It wasn't too terribly cold outside, and neither of us were in a hurry to go back, so we just sat in the park. We ended up staying there for the rest of the morning until we were discovered. The man who approached us might as well have had "federal agent" tattooed on his forehead. He was early thirties with a short hair cut and wearing sunglasses and a practical suit.

"Rachel Gideon?" he asked once he was within speaking distance.

"FBI, right?" I asked.

It was that moment that I guessed Hotch had been called by the school, he had had Garcia trace my cell phone, and sent out a retriever to get me. And that told me just how upset Hotch was that he didn't even bother trying to call me and that he had sent someone I didn't know.

The nameless agent nodded curtly, giving Michael a penetrating glance before fixing his attention on me. "I have instructions to take you into our offices."

I wasn't completely stupid. "Even if Hotch sent you out as an errand boy, I still want to see some ID before I come with you."

Partly, I wanted to confirm that Hotch was calling the shots. If the agent could do that, I wasn't going to fight him. For my comfort, the agent did reach into his pocket and showed me his badge and ID card, saying, "Agent Hotchner of the BAU sent out the call, yes."

He passed the test, so I left without arguing. I promised to call Michael later to let him know what happened. He was headed back to school to face the music and accept his likely suspension. My case, of course, would be more complicated.

The agent placed me in his back seat so I felt like a criminal driving to the Academy and BAU offices. He even went so far as to hold my upper arm and physically lead me in, up the elevator, and hand delivered me to Hotch's office. I saw Reid, Morgan, Prentiss, and JJ all in the bull pen, each watching me with disbelief on their faces.

Waiting for me, Hotch was another story. He thanked the agent who had fetched me and then firmly closed the door behind him, leaving us in privacy. For a long while, Hotch didn't say anything and just watched me as I felt my energy and resolve drain away, leaving me empty once again.

"The past six months have been difficult, I know," Hotch started. "And I can't imagine how frustrating it must be for you right now with your life unsettled as it is. But while I am responsible for you, I will not tolerate this behavior of the past two days."

Hotch waited to see if I would say anything in my defense. When I didn't, he proceeded to list my transgressions.

"You lied about where you were last night. Even though we never discussed a curfew, you were out past midnight which is the county curfew for minors. And then I get a call this morning that not only were you involved in a physical altercation, you played truant by fleeing school grounds."

Yeah, I knew it was bad already, thanks. When I still didn't respond, Hotch huffed out his breath in frustration.

"Rachel, do you even care that I've been worried about you? Anything could have happened to you last night and we wouldn't have known where you were."

Maybe I had had it. Maybe I just couldn't stand the thought of another adult caring about me only to turn me over to someone else as I knew Hotch must at some point.

"You're not my father," I pointed out resentfully. How bad was it that I actually wanted Dad reading me the riot act as long as it meant he was here with me?

"No, I'm not," Hotch agreed tightly. "But I am responsible for you and I do—"

"You're only looking out for me because of my father. Any day now, you'll just put me into the foster care system," I argued. "Why bother with this?"

That stunned him. "What gave you that idea?"

Now I was surprised. "My own family doesn't want me, Hotch. Why on earth would you want to put up with me when you have your own issues? Just do it today and get it over with."

Hotch had been sitting with his desk between us, but when I said that last thing, he leaped to his feet, came around the desk knelt in front me, grabbing me by the shoulders.

"I will _not_ just hand you over to strangers," Hotch swore to me and gave me a little shake for emphasis. I was forced to stare into his eyes, pinned to my seat by his sincerity. "You're feeling betrayed by the people you thought you could trust, but I won't be one of those people, Rachel. If you thought that you would just get shunted off to be someone else's problem, you are mistaken."

Hotch pointed out the window of his office down to the bull pen. "Reid considers you as his sister. Garcia is ready to destroy your brothers' reputations in their respective fields. Both Morgan and Prentiss care for you as if you were a member of our team. Yes, we knew you initially as Jason's daughter, but this is because of _you_, for yourself."

I had felt abandoned by the adults in my life. In that absence, I had only wanted to know that there were still people out there who cared about what happened to me. The BAU was stepping in to be my family. But I had to let them in.

Staring at Hotch's face and listening to his tirade broke the last resolve and ice I had. I burst out crying. I couldn't help it or stop it any longer and just sobbed like I hadn't just spent the past half year doing just that at periodic intervals. I collapsed into myself, hunching over and hiding my face in my hands. I was aware of Hotch rubbing my back, comforting and encouraging at the same time.

When I had quieted down somewhat, Hotch asked, "Are you ready to talk about it?"

Even with my little revelation, I drew the line at talking to Hotch about having sex for the first time. I shook my head.

"Do you want some time to yourself?"

I shook my head again. I didn't want to be alone anymore.

Hotch frowned in confusion. "Just tell me what you need."

"I want to talk," I choked out. "I just can't with you."

If I had been thinking clearly, I wouldn't have said it like that. By the flash of hurt on Hotch's face, I might as well have rejected everything he had just said to me.

"Should I ask Reid to come up here?"

God, that would be even more mortifying. "I really want to talk with my mom right now," I confessed. "I wouldn't even want to talk to Dad about this part."

Hotch's expression softened with sympathy, and finally, he seemed to understand what I wasn't saying. "You need to talk with a woman, not a man."

I nodded. I kept crying, feeling a little embarrassed that Hotch must have guessed what had happened. Luckily, Hotch didn't even try to tackle that subject and instead went to the phone on his desk.

"Garcia, I have Rachel in my office right now… I need you to come up here and bring Prentiss with you."

In less time than I expected, Garcia was bustling through the door, Prentiss right on her heels. Garcia took one look at me and leveled a glare at Hotch.

"What have you been doing to her?" she demanded.

Hotch weathered her wrath and calmly explained, "Garcia, I haven't done anything other than what we discussed needed to be said. I'm going to leave you ladies alone so that Rachel can speak with you. Take all the time you need."

Hotch left swiftly, closing the door behind him. Garcia pulled me from my chair only to transplant me on the couch where she could sit next to me on one side and Prentiss on the other. Garcia had her arm around my shoulders and Prentiss placed a hand on my knee, both waiting for me to speak.

"Oh, chickadee, what have you been thinking lately?" Garcia asked me. No one else could get away with asking that question the way she did. "We have been going out of our minds worrying."

"I'm sorry," I apologized thickly.

Prentiss got up and found tissues in Hotch's desk, bringing them back and wiping my face. I flinched when she touched my cheek.

"Now," Prentiss said somewhat briskly, but still sounding concerned. "Let's take this from the top."

I started with the previous night and then I couldn't stop. I told them about having sex with Mark for the first time (ever), I told them about Mark and Michael fighting. With fresh tears streaming down my cheeks, I shared my theory that I was bound for foster care and wondered how there couldn't possibly be another adult who cared about me or wanted me.

I was hiccupping by the end and Prentiss had used up almost the whole box of tissues to keep up with my tears. For a moment, the only sound was my heavy breathing as I tried to get my composure back to salvage what little was left of my dignity. When it seemed I had sniffed my last attempt of control, Garcia spoke.

"Sweetie, no one here is going to just walk away from you and never come back."

Mentally, I scoffed. If my own father could do it, what was stopping the rest of them? Prentiss must have read the thought on my face.

"Rachel, I can't speak for your father, but I know the rest of the team isn't going anywhere. If the rest of your family has decided not to act like family, then we'll just have to be your new family."

"Exactly," Garcia agreed, pulling me in for a tight hug. "We look out for each other and we'll look out for you from now on. And we'll be there for each other, always."

"You're not going any where," Prentiss promised me. "Okay?"

I nodded, exhausted from the morning. I understood now that the team would take care of me, I wasn't just left out in the cold on my own or thrust into a group of strangers. I suddenly didn't even care who exactly I would be staying with, I just knew it was one of them. And that was all that mattered. With that hurdle taken care of, Garcia brought up the next concern.

"About last night," she started. She and Prentiss exchanged a look above my head from where I was slumped against Garcia's shoulder. "Hotch will probably lay out rules for you later about answering your phone and being where you say you're going to be, stuff like that. The sex…"

"We're not saying it was wrong," Prentiss took over. "You're old enough to make those decisions, just, you did use protection, right?"

"Yeah," I answered. I was my mother's daughter enough to have insisted on that even when the rest of my thoughts could have been summed up with 'to hell with it.'

Both women sighed in relief. "Okay," Prentiss said. "One thing Hotch won't think of that I'll do with you is make an appointment with an OB/GYN."

I shuddered at the thought of even talking about that kind of thing with Hotch.

"As far as the fight this morning goes," Garcia brought up. "Both Hotch and I talked with Principal Finley. Both boys are suspended for three days, but because you only got in the way to stop the fight, you were only suspended for the rest of today. But, Principal Finley is insisting that you start therapy for your own sake."

Here, I objected. "Do I really have to go to some stranger and spill my guts? I doubt the school counselor can handle 'my mom was murdered by a serial killer and my dad couldn't handle it and left me.'"

Garcia fought down a smile. "That's why I convinced her to agree that you can come with me to my weekly counseling sessions for grieving families. There will be other people there going through their own problems, and I'll be there every time. You won't even have to talk at every one."

That I thought I could do, so I agreed. Eventually, Garcia called Hotch back to talk with me. He _did_ lay down the letter of the law but also told me that he would be applying for legal guardian status. Yeah, it could get complicated with things between him and Haley, but it was still more permanent than what I had been expecting. He was surprised when I flung myself at him, hugging him tightly, but not so surprised that he didn't hug me back.

I shared a late lunch with the whole team in their round table room. Sitting around the table while Morgan teased Reid for not being able to use chopsticks, I realized that calling them a family was not a stretch. Reid, Morgan, Prentiss, and JJ all treated each other like siblings. Garcia was the hippie aunt who guarded all her darlings as much as she could. Hotch, the obvious parent, stern but supportive.

And I saw the hole where Dad should have been. He had been the de facto leader of the team alongside Hotch. Sure, Reid and I were the ones who had gotten letters (and I still didn't know exactly what Dad had said to Reid) but we weren't the only ones left hurting. I wasn't the only one who had felt betrayed by his leaving without warning.

The other thing that happened that day: Garcia and I went to the vet's office to pick up Hannah. I had been missing my cat so much, I hugged her close to me as soon as I got her out of the travel cage. We couldn't bring her to Hotch's house just in case Haley came back, but Hannah would stay in Garcia's apartment and I was given her spare key so I could go in the afternoons or evenings.

I went to sleep that night feeling better than I had for weeks.

* * *

Notes:

All right folks, this is the last you'll hear from me in awhile. I do have the next three chapters written and I'm plotting out the rest, so they are in the works. But I wanted to take break here (the pre-Rossi chapters) so that I don't end up leaving you guys in a worse spot. I'm hoping to start posting again in mid-November or early December either with the rest of the movement or with another set of chapters that complete a small story arc like I've done here.

Thank you all so much for your continued support and commentary. I've been having a rough few weeks and coming to this site and reading your reviews has helped me a great deal. I appreciate it so much.

Advertising: There is a forum for Criminal Minds called Chit Chat on Author's Corner and they are having the third (I think) annual Profiler's Choice Awards. I think nominations are due in October sometime and voting sometime after that. If you've been wanting recommendations for other good stories to read, this is a great opportunity. Visit the forum, or I know frequent reviewer hxchick is one of the forum moderators. If I'm incorrect about any of this, apologies.

Thanks again and keep an eye out for more chapters in the fall!

Cantoris


	6. Stile Antico

_Related episode: 3.6 About Face_

_Chapter Six: Stile Antico-literally meaning, "ancient style" it refers to music composed in the Baroque or early Classical eras that is considered historically concious  
_

When I pulled the unsigned permission form out of my back pack, I cursed under my breath for several moments. The band and orchestra spring break trip to Chicago was suddenly a very real part of my thoughts, from selling boxes of oranges and grapefruits to leaving the final paperwork out on Hotch's desk for him to sign.

Since it and the first deposit were due this morning, I had just grabbed it, assuming that it was signed and ready to go. But of course it wasn't; my life wasn't that simple or easy. Failure to turn in this paper work and money would mean I couldn't go. For a second, I stood at my locker and thought about actually _not_ going. I'd been going to museums my whole life because of Dad, so I wouldn't be missing much there. I still had plenty of other concerts to look forward to in my high school career. And it wasn't like I was going for the camaraderie. Mark hadn't said a word to me since I turned him away and most of the school seemed to be on his side, including many of the music students.

But. It was still a chance to get away from Virginia and DC. I could take time to just focus on being somewhere else, someplace without the painful memories of home. Change of scenery and all that jazz. But really, it came down to the fact that I didn't want Dad to take this away from me, too.

So, I started laying out a mental plan. As luck would have it, we had a test in French, my first period class, and then I had study hall. It would be tight, but it might work. One of my earliest lessons on schoolwork from Reid had been about test taking strategies. I whipped through all the questions I knew right away, saving the others for later. That meant I had two thirds of the test finished before I went back to the ones that stumped me or that I just wanted more time to formulate my answers. In the end, I finished with twenty five minutes left of class when I got up to hand my test to Madame Song.

Despite my twenty four hour phase of being a hooligan, most of my teachers were still very sympathetic toward me. Madame Song easily agreed to write me a pass to the library for the rest of class as well as my study hall. She even offered to email my study hall proctor immediately so that I wouldn't have to leave the library to turn the pass in for attendance. Maybe I should have felt bad for manipulating her, but drastic times were calling.

I exited school grounds and caught a bus to the Quantico. Officer Hughes at the security desk recognized me and got me a visitor's pass with a smile. Up the elevator and down the halls, I entered the BAU bull pen and headed for Hotch's office.

He was my official guardian now, even if the paper work hadn't made it through all the channels just yet. He and I were living at the house just the two of us while Haley and Jack were still with her sister and her family. Hotch didn't ever talk about it, at least not with me.

He was at his desk, working on something when I stuck my head in and knocked on the door. He looked up and I had the pleasure of completely stopping him in his tracks.

"Rachel? What are you doing here?" he demanded, standing up as I walked in.

Instead of answering, I just put my very important piece of paper in front of him. Playing along, Hotch picked it up and then looked horror-struck when he recognized what it was.

"This was due today, wasn't it?"

"Yep."

"And you left it out all week for me to take care of."

"Two weeks, actually," I corrected him.

Hotch sighed, perhaps cursing himself, and took up the pen he'd been using, signing his name immediately.

"This doesn't mean that I'm thrilled you cut school again," he warned me without looking up.

"I finished my test early and I'm only missing study hall right now," I explained. "Do you have your checkbook? I need the first payment today, too."

"Three hundred dollars, right?"

"Yeah."

Both tasks done, Hotch stood up and brought them over to me. I reached for them when he held them out, but even after I had them in hand, Hotch didn't let go. I looked up in confusion. Hotch was staring at me sternly.

"I know that this was an unusual circumstance," Hotch began. "But, no more missing school. This is the year you should start looking at colleges and universities and they will be looking at you. You don't want your grades to slip and keep you from getting into a good school."

"Hotch, I get it," I said. Actually, I hadn't really thought about college in the past several months and I still didn't want to focus on it now. That didn't mean I thought Hotch was wrong.

"All right."

We were interrupted by a knock on the door and a voice clearing its throat. I turned around and recognized Chief Erin Strauss, whom I'd met at Mom's funeral. With her was another man around her own age.

"Ms. Gideon, how unexpected," Strauss commented. "I would have thought you would be in school right now."

"A misunderstanding," Hotch defended before I could speak.

Hotch had already told me that this woman was the reason he had been put under a microscope and suspended for something that was not his fault. In that way, in my opinion, she had helped contribute to Dad's sudden departure and abandonment. Somehow, Hotch was able to still think of her with civility, but I could understand why he didn't want to risk me saying anything.

Strauss only raised her eyebrow at the response and I played the good little girl who didn't say anything rude. Finally, the woman gestured to the man who had come in with her.

"Agent Hotchner, I believe you remember-"

"Dave," Hotch interrupted, turning his attention to the man.

Likewise, "Dave" practically ignored Strauss, hugging Hotch in greeting. Automatically, he got brownie points in my book.

Looking back and forth between the two men, Strauss excused herself. "I'll just let you two catch up."

Once she was gone, it was my turn to fall under the new man's scrutiny.

"Dave, this is Rachel Gideon," Hotch introduced us.

"Jason's daughter," Dave realized.

"Rachel, this is David Rossi, one of the founding members of the BAU," Hotch continued. "He's come back now that…" here Hotch faltered for a second.

"Now that Dad did a runner," I finished for him. I was proud of myself for not sounding petulant at all. "It's nice to meet you Agent Rossi."

"And you," Rossi replied.

Looking at him now that I knew who he was, I wondered what the hell David Rossi was doing. And I wondered how he would handle working with the team. If he had started the unit back with Dad and Max Ryan, he might not appreciate the agents I knew and respected. And "come back" implied that he had already left for a reason. Not to mention, him staring at me right now made me wonder what he knew about me, especially about Dad.

"I should get back to school," I told the two men.

Hotch nodded. "I'll have Anderson drive you."

"I took the bus here, I can take it back," I objected.

"Anderson will drive you," Hotch repeated firmly, giving me a look to dare me to argue more.

So I smiled, agreed, and said my good byes. No point in showing a profiler obvious dissention amongst the ranks. And if I thought it was odd that I was thinking of this Rossi guy as a potential threat, I didn't over analyze it. I walked down the steps, hesitating briefly at the door to the office that had been Dad's. It was empty now except for his nameplate on the door. I walked past it deliberately, passing JJ on her way up the stairs.

In the bull pen, I saw Reid, Morgan, and Prentiss at their desks. To my amusement, but not my surprise, Reid had a ghoul mask pushed back on his head and a rope noose around his neck. Reid loved Halloween as much as any little kid. In that spirit, when Reid noticed me but Morgan and Prentiss were facing away from me, I put a finger to my lips.

Reid launched into a tangent about All Hallow's Eve as a distraction while I crept up behind Morgan. Just as I was entering Prentiss' peripheral vision, I tapped the back of Morgan's neck, announcing, "What's this? An FBI agent caught off his guard?"

Morgan jumped a mile out of his chair while Reid and Prentiss cracked up.

"Twice in one day?" I heard Prentiss choke out over the sounds of Morgan's cursing. She turned to me. "And extra points for style, quoting _Lord of the Rings_."

I smirked and then faltered as Morgan stalked toward me, a devious grin on his face. I hurried a few steps away, but the larger man caught me easily and locked me into a full body bind. I could have fought him off—or tried to since I was fairly certain nothing I did could help me against him—but I played dirty instead.

"You know Hotch could look out and see this, right?" I asked.

Morgan let me go so quickly, he had to reach out again to catch me before I fell.

"Truce?" he offered.

"Deal."

I hopped up to sit on Reid's desk and pocketed the candies he slipped to me, his own sugar-themed form of approval.

"So, playing hooky today?" Morgan asked, trying to sound disapproving but failing.

"Hotch forgot to sign something for me," I explained.

"Wait, were you up there just now?" Reid asked, excited about something. "Did you meet David Rossi?"

"For, like, two seconds," I answered quickly before Reid could start quizzing me on every word and nuance that had happened.

I was saved from interrogation when we heard Hotch's voice from the upper walkway.

"Rachel."

I looked up and saw Hotch and Rossi starting to walk down the steps.

"I'm going, I'm going," I protested.

Prentiss hurried to her feet and Reid yanked off his ghoul mask and noose. Rossi must be a pretty big hotshot around here since they were acting like they were meeting a celebrity. While Reid was babbling at break neck speed about literature at Rossi, Hotch looked at me again.

"School," he prompted quietly.

"And straight home after," I assured him.

"And we'll talk about what to do the next time this happens."

I shrugged. Even when I had had two parents around, permission slip signing had been dicey then. Granted, I'd never had to ambush either Mom or Dad at work before, but I had a feeling that this trend was going to continue.

Agent Anderson did drive me to school, though he stopped a block away to let me out when I asked him. I knew he still watched me until I walked through one of the side doors near the library, hoping that no one noticed my absence. Slipping into my seat in Statistics with no one the wiser, I realized I had actually pulled it off. Not that I would think of pulling it off again…

I was pleased enough that I told Michael about my adventure when we got to orchestra. He quirked a grin at me.

"I've been a bad influence on you," he said.

"Please," I scoffed. "I would have done that even if I had never met you."

In the fall out of the fight between Mark and Michael, it was even odds between people siding with Mark or me. Those that sympathized with Mark also firmly believed that I'd been cheating on him the whole time with Michael, because why else would I break up with such a fantastic catch? I had more people than I expected backing me up and agreeing that any guy who tries to tell you to dump one of your friends wasn't worth it. I was also pulling some sympathy because of both Mom and Dad.

Sadly, my old friend Alicia was on Mark's side of things. We didn't even formally end our eight year long friendship, we just adopted a policy of avoiding each other. As luck would have it, we hadn't signed up for roommates yet for the spring break tour and Liz Peterson was willing to partner with me. Maybe I should have felt that loss a little more, but we'd been drifting apart already. And in the wake of Dad, nothing else felt as painful as that.

After school, Michael gave me a ride to Hotch's house. He even came in to hang out for a couple of hours. One thing that had come up quickly between Hotch and me was Michael. Hotch, probably going off of Dad's opinion first, hadn't been pleased with his first impression. To be fair, the circumstances appeared pretty harsh, considering the fight and truancy.

"He's my best friend," I had argued. "He's probably the only close friend I have left. Please don't tell me to stay away from him. Please."

So Hotch had invited him over one night and grilled him as expertly and subtly as I knew he could be. Michael figured out what was going on any way, but Michael was far from stupid. Whatever unspoken communication had happened, it ended up with Hotch approving of Michael which was all I cared about.

But that night, Michael headed home for dinner while I waited for Hotch. In the past couple of weeks, I had taken over most of the cooking during the week, partly because of Hotch's hours, partly to make myself feel like I was contributing and giving back, and partly because I realized I had missed it. Of course, I still wasn't cooking a lot of meat, so a lot of times Hotch would bring home a rotisserie chicken or just call me to say he was bringing take out with him.

Tonight, I made up a pan of enchiladas, taking some of the left over chicken and adding that to half of them. I sliced up an avocado and made sure there was salsa and sour cream in the fridge. For fun, I even made up a pitcher of homemade lemonade.

I was half way through my homework when Hotch walked through the door, sniffing the air.

"Is this to charm me into not yelling at you for ditching classes today?" he asked, finding me in the den couch with my books spread around me so that I could hear the oven timer.

I raised my eyebrows at him. "First of all, I know it wouldn't work with you. Secondly, I cook just as much for myself as I do for you. And you all but admitted that today was partly your fault anyway."

Hotch continued to stare at me expectantly.

"It's just dinner. If I had made dessert, that would have been sucking up," I admitted.

I swear Hotch actually sighed in disappointment. "I wouldn't turn down bribery like that."

"Duly noted."

Despite the fact Hotch wasn't my father, despite the fact that Hotch's wife and son were missing from the table, dinner was painfully domestic. Sure, Hotch and I were still feeling our way around each other, and there were cases like today when I had to improvise or he has to put his foot down.

But we were actually sitting down at the kitchen counter, side by side, eating and talking about what we needed to cover. We worked out that if I ever needed something signed like I did this morning, I could use the fax machine at school and call his office line. Once that was out of the way, I brought up what was on my mind.

"So, what's the story behind Special Agent Rossi?" I asked. His name was only vaguely familiar, but I couldn't come up with any specifics.

Hotch glanced at me sharply. "Your father never talked about him?"

I shot him my most sardonic look. "Hotch, I didn't know _you_ existed until four years ago. And I had to learn from Reid who the rest of the team was."

"Right, of course," Hotch agreed, remembering that Dad always tried to separate work from home which always worked out so well. "Dave was one of the founding members of the BAU when the unit was created along with your father and Max Ryan, you met him, didn't you?"

I nodded. It was actually a big reason why I was asking about Rossi. Max Ryan had rubbed me the wrong way.

"Well, Dave retired about ten years ago and has become a prolific author and lecturer. He's easily one of the most recognized profilers from the FBI."

"And he's returned to work on the team, just like that?" I asked skeptically.

Hotch gave me a long, measuring look.

"He only joined because Dad left, didn't he?" I guessed. "So they didn't get along."

"What makes you say that?"

This wasn't the first time I had guessed something sensitive around Hotch. And just like that time when I refused to swallow the public story covering up terrorism, Hotch first wanted to know how I came to my conclusions.

"Even I know about at least two openings on the team in the past three years," I explained. "If he'd wanted back in, he could have filled the spot that Prentiss took last year. Or how about right after Boston when you guys lost so many agents? No, only he comes back after Dad has gone. Not a coincidence."

I got up and started cleaning up the dishes and packaging the leftovers. I honestly wasn't expecting Hotch to give me a straight answer. He was better than Dad at answering in general, but he still kept things from me "for my own good" or for policy. To my surprise, Hotch came up next to me to rinse our plates.

"They didn't get along," he told me. "On a personal level, they were very different. Dave dated very casually and also married and divorced twice in the years we all worked together. Your father was very loyal to his wife, even after she died. Professionally, both Dave and your father were very good at what they did and they both knew it. But they always argued about why they did it. Your father wanted to understand the people we chase. Dave only ever wanted to put them away."

"And what do you believe?" I demanded.

"I think that in order to put them away, we need to understand them first."

Food for thought, I had plenty buzzing around my mind during the next day. Learning that Dad hadn't made himself popular at the office wasn't a shock to me at all. That Dad had approached serial killers and bombers as people to be studied also wasn't a surprise. The whole romance thing had me confused a little. Sure, I knew about Dad's wife and the fact that I only existed because he and Mom had hooked up soon after that, thinking it was a one night only deal. Even if they never got married, they still had a relationship and raised me together. From where I was sitting, Dad would be a hypocrite to disapprove of anyone having a second love of their life.

I did wonder about how Rossi would adjust to being back for some reason. I still remembered hearing Max Ryan belittle the agents that I knew and respected. And now those same people were trying to recover from losing one of their teammates. If this Rossi knew what was good for him, he wouldn't make the same mistake.

After school that day, Halloween, I took the bus home and then drove my car to Garcia's apartment. I knew the team had flown to Dallas that morning and Garcia was housing my kitty. I hung around her place for the afternoon, working on homework and playing with Hannah who seemed to be growing more comfortable with her current home. We were both adjusting.

Since Michael was working and I had no other friends, I waited for Garcia to come home. I had called hours earlier for pizza to avoid the rush so the veggie supreme and mushroom and cheese pizzas were delivered soon after Garcia walked through the door.

"Thank you, chica. This hits the spot," the techno queen said, slipping off her high heels and collapsing on the couch. "The team should be coming back in around midnight tonight, all right?"

"That quick?" They had only been gone a day.

Garcia _hrumphed_. "Agent Rossi decided to goad the unsub into action by revealing sensitive information to the press and lie about the profile."

I winced. Her tone did not endear me to this man or his methods, even if they did work.

"No more work talk," Garcia declared, getting up to get sodas for us both. "We need a Halloween movie."

We watched the Johnny Depp version of _Sleepy Hollow_, eating Pixie Stix like sugar shots for every decapitation and fainting spell. So I was still on a sugar rush and wide awake when Hotch arrived home that night. Seeing that my light was on at one in the morning, Hotch stuck his head inside my room.

"What are you still doing up?"

Since it was said out of curiosity more than admonishment, I explained what had happened. Glancing at my fingers, still twitching and tapping out a quick beat, Hotch winced.

"Just, try to get some sleep, okay?"

"Yep," I promised, popping the "p" at the end of the word.

It was too late and Hotch looked too tired for me to ask how he thought the first case with Rossi had gone, so I didn't. By the morning, I also decided that unless I heard about it from Hotch, it shouldn't be my business. Since Haley and Jack had left, Hotch had become much more reserved than usual. Hopefully, I could ignore Rossi's presence on the team and just concentrate on the team members that were my family.

* * *

Notes:

Yes, I have returned! I'm sorry that I was later than I had promised, but I was working toward finishing the whole thing and posting then...but that hasn't happened. Instead, I do have four brand new chapters for you, my gift to everyone for the holiday season (whichever you celebrate). As usual, these four chapters will be posted once a week for the next four weeks, followed by another break as I work on wrapping this baby up.

Let's see, comments about this chapter...I was trying to get Rachel's perspective on the assumed rivalry between Gideon and Rossi. It seems like everyone accepts that while on the same team, they didn't get along, so I have put out my own interpretation of why that was. Personally, I am prefer Rossi to Gideon, but you could call both arrogant sob's and not be wrong.

The chapter title is in reference to Rossi's style of profiling as compared to the rest of the team's. There is a pendulum effect in music composition when you look at how composers and audiences considered music at the respective times. Baroque music was polyphonic (many different lines of music in balance with each other) and centered around dance but then Classical music was more refined and simple with a clear melody supported by harmony (think of hymns in church). Where Classical music was all about refinement, Romantic music was emotional and passionate which was then followed by atonal music that used numerical patterns and codes to create music instead of creative artistry. Back and forth and back and forth. And that is your music history lesson for the day.

Not much more to say than that. I hoped everyone enjoyed this latest installment of _Sonata in G, Mvt III_ and I hope to hear your reactions which are always welcome. The next chapter will be posted next week on Monday. Thanks for reading!

Cantoris


	7. Vivace

_Related episode: 3.8 Lucky, 3.9 Penelope_

_Vivace-meaning "lively" and "vivid"  
_

I still had my bad days. Sometimes, there would be some reminder that forced me to relive all of my anger, disappointment, and depression. Looking at a flower garden could send tears to my eyes, thinking of my mom. I hadn't played chess with Reid since the first game we tried to play after Dad left had me shaking. And other times, I could be in the middle of something completely unrelated and it would all suddenly hit me again.

Whenever it happened, I let it happen. Part of what I was learning in Garcia's counseling sessions from other people was that hiding from the pain didn't help. However miserable I felt, I made myself feel it all. I didn't want to make the same mistakes again.

It took awhile to realize that the bad days were getting less frequent, but I wasn't thinking I was "over" any of it. Another gem from the sessions was that you don't get over tragedy. You live with it and work through it which was okay some days and seemed impossible on others.

One night, I knew Hotch was supposed to call Haley to talk about their situation, so I decided to spend some time with Garcia in her apartment. I found the tech goddess on her couch with a film reel set up in her living room, watching a home movie.

"I was thinking about my parents today," Garcia admitted as we both sat down on the couch after getting cups of cocoa piled high with marshmallows. "Well, I was thinking about you and hoping that you didn't make the same mistakes I did."

She had talked about her parents at my first session. I knew they had died in a car accident when she was eighteen and that she had cut herself off from everybody she knew.

"I have a fairy godmother who won't let me make those mistakes," I answered, leaning against her shoulder and snuggling under the blanket she had spread over us.

Garcia reached out and tweaked my nose. Joining in, Hannah batted a paw at Garcia's retro earring before settling on top of my lap to curl up asleep. Certainly my cat was happier living with Garcia than with Dad.

Worn out from the day—my sleep patterns were still wacky, another "normal" side effect of grief—I fell asleep on Garcia's couch, waking up with a start hours later, alone. My watch told me it was almost midnight.

"Crap," I muttered, struggling to untangle myself from the blanket and find my shoes and jacket.

"Chill out, chica," Garcia spoke up from her bed, laptop in her lap. "I called Hotch and told him it would just be easier to let you spend the night."

Still a little groggy, I blinked a few times and tried to process the speech I was hearing. On the surface, I had no issues with that scenario. I had brought my back pack over to do homework and Garcia could drive me to school in the morning. But, there was one thing…

"What about clothes?" I asked. Garcia and I were _very_ different sizes, just height-wise alone.

"For tonight, you can borrow a tee shirt," Garcia explained, getting up and retrieving a bright pink shirt that would come down to my knees and covered in cupcakes. "And we can always stop by Hotch's in the morning."

With no further objections, I nodded, accepted the shirt and went to the bathroom to change. Soon, I was back on the couch and fell asleep again. It took a minute to remember where I was when I woke up, but it wasn't too terrible. Frankly, I still had a moment of shock at Hotch's house most mornings.

Garcia apparently wasn't a breakfast person and got her coffee on the go. Hotch was gone already by the time we got to his house, apparently taking advantage of the fact he didn't need to wait for a reasonable time to drop me off at school. I changed quickly and we were on the road again.

She was a regular at the particular café where we stopped, judging from the girl behind the counter who just took Garcia's travel mug without needing the drink stated. At Garcia's nudge, I ordered a caramel macchiato and a biscotti. We were on our way out when Garcia was distracted by some poor guy losing an argument with his computer.

I hid my grin behind my cup as Garcia worked her tech magic and then followed up with some flirting, including giving out her phone number. We waited until we got outside before bursting into entirely girlish giggles. In the car, I sobered up.

"Should you have given him your number?" I asked, vividly imagining what Dad would have said if I were ever to do the same thing.

"It's my work line," she assured me. "Surrounded by some of the FBI's finest, I feel safe."

Couldn't argue with that.

Garcia pulled into the drop off lane in the school parking lot, leaning over to kiss me on the cheek. "All right my lovey, you know the drill-"

"You'll call or text me if I need to catch the bus home," I finished for her.

Michael was waiting for me at the front door. "Who was that?" he demanded. "Her car is fantastic."

"That was Garcia," I told him with a smile. "And she already has a date for tonight, so you're out of luck."

He took my teasing in stride. "Forget the date, I just want to put my hands all over that engine."

"I'll see what I can do," I promised.

Michael bumped my shoulder before abruptly slowing his pace. I looked around for what could have startled him and I saw Alicia, Mark, and some others gathered around the door to the band room, where Michael and I were heading to hang out before the first bell. I wasn't surprised to see Mark's arm around Alicia's waist.

Michael's hand closed around my wrist, a silent offer to turn around as well as an expression of protection. But I kept walking forward and Michael had to keep up with me, still holding on. I watched as the group parted like the Red Sea, letting us through the door unmolested. Almost.

When it appeared that we were out of ear shot, I heard Alicia say, "See the way he held on to her? They have to be doing it."

When Michael would have spun around, I changed our hand position so that I was holding onto him, dragging him with me into a practice room.

"It's nothing anyone hasn't been saying for almost two years," I pointed out. "And she's been thinking it for that long even if she hasn't said anything until now."

Michael paced the small room, hands balled up into fists at his side.

"Why doesn't this upset you?" he demanded. "And the way they were hanging onto to each other!"

"Because with everything else going on in my life, Alicia showing off and finally speaking her mind is really petty in comparison," I answered calmly. "Why is it upsetting you so much?"

It took awhile for Michael to answer, to the point that I gave up expecting him to. And sure, I could have let this episode get to me. A part of me that was used to hearing Dad and Reid talk about cases could even start profiling Mark and Alicia's budding new relationship. She had always been jealous of me and wanted Mark for herself, and Mark was probably trying to make a dig at me by going out with my former best friend.

"Not all of the guys at this school are jerks," Michael finally said.

I raised my eyebrows at his admission. Michael wasn't known for always thinking well of others, especially our so-called peers.

"I just don't want you to lose opportunities just because everyone thinks we're an item," Michael admitted guiltily.

I couldn't help it, I laughed. Michael stared at me in astonishment as I tried to bring myself under control.

"That is so far on the bottom of my worry list," I managed to get out between bursts. "If that's the only reason, then just forget it. It's not worth spending brain cells even thinking about it."

"Rachel—"

"No," I cut him off, dropping any trace of humor in my voice. "Don't you dare give them the power to doubt or second guess our friendship. They're not worth it."

I reached out and up, putting my hands on Michael's face so that he looked at me until I saw that he believed me. Once I saw the understanding in his eyes, I pulled him in to hug. Eventually, Michael's arms wrapped around me and he put his face down on my shoulder.

It wasn't until we pulled away from each other that I really noticed the way he was breathing a little too carefully. I reached out and lightly brushed my fingers over his chest and stomach, watching as he winced in pain and shied away from me.

"Your dad?" I asked carefully. It was something we never openly talked about. I knew that it was wrong, but I also knew Michael would refuse any help on the matter and that pestering him about it would drive him away from me.

"Nothing serious," Michael dismissed the matter. "And it's only for another few months."

As soon as Michael turned eighteen, he was moving out and away from his abusive, drunk father. For the most part, it was just yelling and insults, but a few times Michael has had bruises not caused by fights with our fellow students.

"We could so something about it right now," I offered. So far, it did seem like Michael had everything under control—as much as a situation like this could be controlled.

Michael shook his head at me. "Not with my history of trouble making," he said somewhat ruefully. "There's no way to prove what's actually happening beyond a reasonable doubt."

I hated it, but I knew he was right. As much as I wanted to tell Hotch or any other authorities, I was aware how difficult it could be to prove cases of abuse. And that's without Michael's history for getting into fights and his less than exemplary school records.

The rest of my day was somewhat subdued after that. Michael was working in the afternoon, so I went back to Hotch's house, letting the volume on the stereo creep up beyond my usual setting when he was around. Sitting around after I finished my homework, I thought again that I should probably find a job. I knew that I had enough in my trust fund to pay for school and still have some security after I graduated (thanks to Mom's career in medicine and Dad's book sales), but mostly, I just needed something else to do with my time.

The next day, I decided to go back to Garcia's apartment to play with Hannah. It just wasn't the same not seeing her every day like I was used to for most of my life. I had thought I would be gone by the time Garcia got off of work, but she came in earlier than I expected.

"Sorry," I said when she burst in like a whirlwind. I really hoped she wasn't sick of me being over all the time. "I thought you wouldn't be back until six."

"Not to worry, chica," Garcia assured me, still moving around like a gusting wind to put her things away. "I'm actually headed out soon on a date."

"Coffee shop guy?" I asked with a sly smile.

"You bet. I need to change quickly, he'll be here in an hour."

It took a moment to put the right word to what I was sensing, but I never would have expected Garcia to be nervous about a date. She was back in her bedroom by the time I figured it out and also decided not to mention it. Not my business and she must know what she's doing better than me.

"Feel free to stay while I'm gone, okay?" Garcia said. "Just call Hotch if you're going to be here late; the team's getting in from a case late tonight."

Garcia paused for a minute before looking at me carefully. "It was really bad, so just be prepared."

I nodded, grateful for the warning. None of the BAU's cases are exactly sunshine and daisies, but when any of them feel the need to mention one is bad, that usually means it's horrifying to a normal person. Everything's relative, I guess.

"Do you think I should just sleep over again so that Hotch can have time to himself?" I asked.

"You don't have to, sweetie," Garcia answered, her voice getting fainter as she ducked into her bedroom and closet. "You're always welcome to, but don't feel like you have to get out of his way."

"Maybe I should be asking if I'll be in _your_ way later tonight!" I called out playfully.

I could hear her chuckling. "I don't move _that_ quickly!" she called back.

About twenty minutes later, Garcia came back out into the front room. There can't be many women who could pull off gold and silver sequins and glitter, but on Garcia it looked glamorous.

"Have fun tonight," Garcia told me, leaning down to kiss my cheek.

"You, too," I shot back with a teasing smile.

I actually left myself soon after Garcia did to return to the house and pick up my own pajamas and a change of clothes. I left a note for Hotch and also sent him a text to let him know where I would be. Back at Garcia's apartment, I made a pot of mushroom alfredo pasta and blueberry muffins for the next morning. I took the time to brush Hannah thoroughly to her satisfaction and helped myself to Garcia's nail polish collection to paint my finger- and toenails.

I was contemplating changing into pajamas and laying out on the couch when I heard a sharp sound like a crack of some sort. About a minute later, I dismissed it as a type of car sound outside when I heard a woman screaming, almost right outside the window. I jumped up and poked my head out to look down. My breath left my body in a rush when saw the glitter of Garcia's dress, shining brightly against the dark front steps of the apartment building.

I raced down the stairs with the surety that the elevator would be slower than my own two feet. At the front door, I bumped into a woman—the one who must have screamed—who was already on her cell phone and calling the cops and ambulance by the sound of it. I knelt down next to Garcia, praying that I was overreacting to her pale skin, closed eyes, and the growing pool of blood underneath her body.

"Garcia. Garcia!"

There was a hole in her chest and I clamped my hands down on it firmly. Her eyes remained closed, but I could feel the faint rise and fall of her chest as she breathed. Some distant part of my brain registered that there was no blood coming out her mouth, so her lungs hadn't been punctured.

"Garcia, wake up!"

I was so focused on keeping up the pressure and shouting for her to wake up that I didn't notice the paramedics until one forcibly pulled me away. Two more swarmed past and began their own inspection and work.

The landlady (the woman who screamed I realized) was talking to the paramedics and I vaguely heard them get her to back off so they could keep working. Meanwhile, I began to shake and noticed that the third paramedic was talking to me.

"Miss? Can you tell me who you are? Are you her daughter?"

"No," I answered, too stunned to say more than that.

"Are you her sister? Are you family?"

"Yes," I said. "I'm family."

I wasn't even thinking it through that he was trying to determine if I would be allowed to ride along with them to the hospital. I just knew that even though there wasn't a word for what Garcia and I were to each other, I was family.

"Okay, let's have you ride with us. Is there someone you can call? An adult?"

"Yeah, um, my… Hotch, I should call him and Spencer and Morgan…" I drifted off, following complacently as the paramedic led me to the ambulance and to the front seat with him. The other two had already strapped Garcia onto a gurney and loaded her up.

I rode the whole trip with my head craned around to watch Garcia in the back. She was still, so still and quiet, and so unlike what I was used to seeing in her. At the hospital, the driver ushered me to the side as more doctors and nurses in scrubs swarmed out, unloading the gurney and rushing back inside, everyone shouting incomprehensible jargon at each other that even I had a hard time following.

In the ER, I was led to a chair where I collapsed. A nurse came over and told me that they had called Hotch, having found his number in Garcia's contact information. I nodded my understanding and sat in numb silence. It wasn't until I looked down and saw the blood on my hands that I fully realized what had happened. And then, I had a flashback.

I barely made it to a trash can, ignoring how people shifted away from me. While I dry heaved, another nurse coming around came over and walked me back to my chair, bringing me a wet washcloth and a cup of water soon after. It wasn't easy to clean my hands while they were still shaking, but somehow I managed.

She can't die, I thought over and over again.

"Rachel?"

I looked up and saw Hotch and JJ, each still dressed in work clothes and looking concerned. They were concerned and I was either in shock or about to panic.

"Someone shot her, Hotch," I said tonelessly. "They just shot her outside the front door."

"I'll talk to the nurse to check on her condition," JJ offered. "Reid and Emily are on their way, I still have to call Rossi, and Morgan isn't answering."

Hotch nodded once and then sat down next to me. There was nothing more that I wanted at that moment than to just cocoon myself in Hotch's arms as he told me that of course Garcia would be okay and there was nothing to worry about. But Hotch would never lie to me. He rested his hand on my shoulder and squeezed, for comfort or my attention, I don't know.

"Tell me what you know," he asked, not unkindly.

"She was so still," I said. It was really the most significant thing in my memory. Even watching Garcia sit at her computers at her office, she was never still.

"Rachel, I need you to tell me what happened tonight," Hotch repeated, giving me a little shake.

I shook my head, trying and failing to get rid of the images in my mind. "I was at her apartment," I said even though I knew Hotch knew that. "I heard a sound, like a car back firing or something. Maybe a minute later, the landlady screamed and I looked out the window." I paused to swallow a few times, trying not to cry or break down. "Garcia was just lying there on the ground and I could see blood on the sidewalk. I ran downstairs and I tried to stop the bleeding. I tried, I really tried—"

I lost my fight and started to cry, letting Hotch pull me in close to hold me. I kept my tears silent, clenching my lips together to keep from sobbing. I don't know how long I stayed like that until suddenly, Hotch stood up. I looked up to wonder why he had moved so unexpectedly, but then Emily was in his place, wrapping her arms around me as Reid sat on my other side and rubbed my back with his hand.

By the time JJ got back, I was just resting against Emily's shoulder, my opposite hand held securely in Reid's. Hotch stood stiffly in front of us, constantly scanning the room for what, I don't know.

"She's in surgery," JJ reported. "Right now, they're telling me that her condition is critical."

I buried my face into Emily's shoulder deeper, but I could still make out the harsh fluorescent lighting and the various sounds from waiting patients, nurses, and the PA system.

"A nurse told me there's a quieter hallway closer to the OR where we can wait," JJ continued. "Rossi is on his way, I'll wait for him. I still can't reach Morgan."

Hotch nodded and then looked down at Reid, Emily, and me.

"I'll try Morgan," Emily answered some unspoken question. "He might just be asleep with his phone off."

Another nod from Hotch. Emily gently nudged me toward Reid and stood up, walking out of the ER to use her phone. A second later, Hotch and Reid were leading me down a hallway, leaving the chaotic sounds of the ER behind us. Even that short walk exhausted me and I collapsed into the closest chair I came to. After a moment of hesitation, Reid sat next to me again and silently offered me his shoulder for a pillow. I accepted gratefully.

Eventually, Emily, JJ, and Rossi joined us. Rossi remained standing as Hotch had while the women claimed the seats across the hall from Reid and me. No one spoke after that which was a little bit of a relief. For all that I wanted someone to say that we had nothing to worry about, I didn't want lies.

Somehow, I managed to fall asleep cuddled next to Reid. I missed Morgan's arrival, but I woke up when I felt Reid tense up as a doctor in rumbled scrubs approached our group.

And thank God, Jesus, Buddha, Allah, and whoever else was listening, Garcia was going to be okay. I just about started crying again from relief. She was going to be okay.

"I'm sure she'll want to see familiar faces when she wakes up," Hotch said, eyeing the group of us and focusing on me. "Rossi and I will go the scene. The rest of you wait here and see what she can tell you about what happened."

Hotch gestured me over to him with a single look and I went obediently to his side.

"You are coming with me to get some sleep. I'll call your school to excuse you from your morning classes, but no more."

I opened my mouth to object to that, but another look at Hotch's face silenced me. He was grim as usual these days, but there was also stress on his face. It struck me that as the unit chief, this was all piling down on him a lot from the team coping to Dad's departure, dealing with me, and trying to save his marriage and family on top of it all. So, I didn't push him.

"Yeah, okay," I agreed. "But can I come here straight after school to see her?" I asked.

Hotch nodded gratefully, relieved that I hadn't argued. "I'll send someone to drive you."

I said my good byes to the team and gave Reid a kiss to pass along to Garcia when she woke up. I followed Hotch and Rossi out of the hospital, feeling sleep calling to me again. It was already close to six in the morning and I still hadn't settled into normal sleep patterns even after six months. Based on all the others things in my life that knocked me on my ass, I didn't anticipate having a normal sleeping pattern for years to come.

Hotch and Rossi deliberately didn't talk about the shooting while I was in the car with them which last year I would have resented but appreciated now. I didn't care about being treated like a child anymore. Whatever they wanted to spare me, it had nothing to do with my age.

The only problem came when I told Hotch that my back pack was still at Garcia's apartment. Since it was closer than his house anyway, we had to stop there first. And since we were there already, it made more sense for Hotch and Rossi to profile the scene before taking me to the house. At first, Hotch did insist that I wait in the car while he and Rossi did their thing, but I reminded him that Hannah would need her breakfast. Hotch frowned, but waved me in past the police tape.

When I came out almost fifteen minutes later—Hannah had needed some petting to calm her down from the drama last night—Hotch and Rossi were actually almost done. I could tell they had been talking about something intensely but shut up quickly when I came out. On the way in, I hadn't paid attention to the blood stain on the sidewalk, but I noticed it now. When I stopped dead in my tracks, Hotch figured out why immediately and reached for my hand to lead me back to the car.

"She's okay," Hotch reminded me. "And I'm sure part of that is because you got to her and helped stop the bleeding. Do you understand me?"

I nodded reflexively. I didn't point out that this was the second time I had seen someone I love bleeding on the ground. Or that I could now imagine what might have happened if I had reached my mother in time.

Instead, I remained mostly silent as Hotch then drove me back to his house with Rossi still riding shotgun. I almost fell asleep in the car and barely managed to stumble into the house with both men escorting me. It wasn't until I was climbing the stairs to my room when I thought about something I should have mentioned earlier in the night.

"Does anyone know what happened to her date?" I asked Hotch.

From the surprise on his face, he hadn't even known that Garcia had _had_ a date.

"What date?" he demanded.

"She was on a date," I explained. "Some guy she met at a coffee shop, um, two days ago now."

"Do you know anything else about him?" Hotch asked sternly.

I shook my head. "No."

First, Hotch seemed like he wanted to interrogate me, but when he spoke, he only said, "Get some sleep. Set your alarm so that you can make it to school after lunch. Anderson will drive you there."

I knew better than to argue that point by now, however much I was beginning to feel like poor Anderson was being treated like my personal chauffeur.

Upstairs, I stripped off my clothes, set my alarm for noon, and fell into bed in my underwear. I was asleep as soon as I hit the mattress and managed to sleep without any dreams. When I woke up, I debated rushing to make the second half of Physics but mentally shrugged it off. I showered with very hot water to shake off the last traces of grogginess and made a peanut butter and jelly sandwich with an apple for lunch.

I found Anderson parked in the driveway working on a case file. Back pack in tow, I walked out and hopped into the front passenger seat.

"I feel like I should have tip money for you at this point," I joked weakly. "Any news?"

"She woke up and talked with Agents Reid, Morgan, and Prentiss," Anderson reported, putting his file away and putting the car in gear. "A sketch artist is going in later today to get a description of the shooter."

I frowned. "They know who shot her?" I asked.

Anderson threw me a sharp look before turning back to the road. "It was her date from last night."

I sucked in a large breath and held it against the urge to scream. When I felt like I was capable, I released the breath slowly. "Damn it all to hell," I swore softly. I glared at Anderson. "You didn't just hear me swear."

"I heard nothing," Anderson agreed quickly.

He pulled up to the front entrance of the school this time and I hopped out.

"You'll pick me up at the end of school?" I asked.

"Three thirty sharp," Anderson confirmed.

I checked in at the office and headed for band early since there was only ten minutes left of my lunch period. After school would be an easier time to track down my teachers in their offices to turn in my morning's homework assignments. Walking down the hall, I saw Michael in one of the practice rooms. I walked in without knocking and sat down hard on the floor next to him.

"Where the hell have you been?" Michael demanded when I simply leaned my head back against the wall and closed my eyes.

"Garcia was shot last night," I replied.

Michael's arms were wrapped around me before I took another breath. I held on fiercely but I didn't subject him to my tears.

"Shit."

"Yeah," I agreed. "And I just found out it was the guy who asked her out." I broke away for a moment. "What the hell kind of guy asks a woman out, actually takes her on the date, and then shoots her? I mean, seriously?"

Michael shook his head. "You know better than me there are some sick bastards out there."

I grimaced. "And they keep popping up whenever I feel like it's safe, like cockroaches."

I made sure that I focused on my three classes, but a part of me was just counting down the minutes until I could race outside and find whoever was driving me back to the hospital. I did take the time to turn in my homework and luckily, my teachers had heard about what had happened.

Agent Anderson was dutifully waiting outside in the expected black SUV and even walked me up to Garcia's room at the hospital. Probably, Hotch had told him to escort me and make sure I wasn't there long because the agent waited in a chair outside while I went in.

Garcia herself was lying on her hospital bed and elevated ever so slightly for her recovery. Someone had cleaned all the make up off her face which, along with the likely blood loss, made her look pale and ill. Her hair was limp on the pillow and the hospital gown was a washed out shade of green. On anyone, it would look wrong, but especially for Garcia who managed to look glamorous in her pajamas, it was totally alien looking.

Her eyes were closed when I walked in, so I waited until I was at her side before whispering, "Garcia?"

Her eyes opened slowly and tried to focus on me. I spotted her glasses on the side table and wordlessly handed them to her carefully.

"No crying," she commanded me weakly. "If I go Niagara Falls, they'll have to change my bandages again."

I nodded shakily and reached for her hand. It wasn't anything like her lung-constricting, rib-squeezing hugs, but she managed to grasp my fingers.

I couldn't make myself ask if she was okay because I knew that was a really stupid question. I didn't say how worried I was because she would know that already. I just held on and tried to smile.

Garcia smiled back at me. "Remember how we talked about your fairy godmother not letting you make the same mistakes she did?" she asked.

"Yeah," I said, not sure where she was going with this.

"Here's another one for you, sweetie pie. You are never going out on a date with anyone that I don't investigate first and doesn't meet either Hotch or Morgan, capice?"

I giggled. "Absolutely. I'll end up never dating again."

Garcia squeezed my fingers and managed a slightly wider smile. "You betcha."

The next few days weren't easy as Garcia was left in the hospital, I split time between Hotch's house and her apartment to take care of Hannah, and the team got no where with finding the son of a bitch shooter. Of course, it was even more difficult when Garcia was suspended for reasons Hotch didn't explain to me and then she was attacked again at her apartment on her first night back. I heard all about it the next morning when I caught Hotch sneaking in for breakfast dressed in a suit already.

At first, I was pissed off that he had just left me in the middle of the night, but after he told me about Jason Clark Battle's audacious and ill-fated show down in the BAU, I let it go. Part of accepting him and the rest of the team as my family was also accepting that they were all of them protective, especially protective of me, and especially protective me with everything that's happened in the past year.

If I was also becoming equally protective of them, at least in my mind, that didn't seem all that unnatural to me.

* * *

Notes:

I played around with the logistics of this chapter a lot, like having Rachel present during the second shooting instead of the first, or present at both, and this is what I decided on. I even played around with having Rachel at the BAU during the final showdown for some reason, but I figured that was stretching it a bit too much. What I finally decided on (what you just read) I felt was the most probable and believable series of events.

As for the chapter title, how could I go with anything else?

I will be posting the next chapter next week on Monday. Thank you all for reading, I hope you are continuing to enjoy Rachel's story.

Cantoris


	8. Carol

_Carol-a festive song, generally religious but not necessarily connected with church worship, and often with a dance-like or popular character_

The holidays were equal parts awkward and easy, depending on how I was feeling at the time. Hotch and Haley still hadn't reconciled, so he would only get to see Jack for a few hours on Christmas day and didn't really have any other family besides his wife and son. For my own family, I got a card in the mail from John and Kat, nothing from Scott and Stephen, and a letter from Alan saying he would be in town by New Year's and that he wanted to talk. I wasn't holding my breath for it.

I had been left in a present quandary, namely concerning my new guardian. Like me, Hotch wanted what was impossible to give—his family back—so I spent a lot of time thinking about what I could give him to thank him for everything he'd done for me. And then go through the same dilemma for Reid and Garcia. And I had until the BAU Christmas party to figure it out.

I had known about the party for years before, but because Dad had never gone, naturally, I hadn't either. From what I understood, there had always been some sort of holiday get together for all the BAU teams and the other agents who worked with them, but it wasn't until Garcia was hired that it really took off. With her influence, decorations doubled, invitations were more festive, white elephant gifts were added, and no one was allowed to get away without at least one kiss under the mistletoe.

Family members were invited and Garcia was bound and determined that I would be going this year. She was mostly recovered from her shooting, with the added benefit of flirting with Kevin Lynch. All I knew was that he had become involved in the investigation and thought that Garcia hung the cyberspace moon. I thought he was adorable.

But that still didn't help me with my gifts.

"Why not a tie?" Michael suggested while we were out shopping. I had dragged him along as a male opinion.

"Everyone probably gets him ties," I dismissed.

"And all these gifts are getting opened at the party?" he asked, browsing around the secondhand store where we had started.

"No," I answered. "Only the gag gifts between all the agents get opened then. The other gifts just get sent home with people."

"So, we're still looking for something personal, meaningful, and cheap enough that you don't need to access your bank accounts since Garcia monitors them?" Michael summarized.

"Basically," I replied. "And we only have another hour before I'm meeting Reid. He thinks he can get me a job."

"How about the toy box over there for Garcia?" Michael pointed out. "Find something geeky or retro for her to put in her office."

I looked where he directed then whipped back to kiss him on the cheek.

"Genius."

I knew Michael was blushing as I walked away, and I wasn't honestly sure why I had done that. I wasn't looking for another boyfriend, and I was fairly certain I wasn't looking to date Michael. I was definitely sure I didn't want to lose his friendship. Maybe I was just clinging to the people I still had around me while so many others were out of my life. Good God, I sound like Reid.

The toy bin in the store was about two thirds full with a hodge podge of variety. I dug around for a few minutes before coming up with some possibilities: a stuffed cat that looked like Hannah, a Power Rangers figurine, and a Disney Belle doll. After a moment of thought, I went with the Power Rangers toy. It was the robot Alpha who always worked in the Command Center, much like a technical analyst. I smirked as I kept it in my hand. One down, two to go. I looked back at Michael who was browsing through the books. I needed to find something special for him, too.

I turned back to the toy bin, knowing that Michael would object to anything costly for himself. After some thorough digging, I found some old Hot Wheels sports cars that I thought he could put in his work space at the auto shop. On my way to the cashier line, I spotted a rack of scarves and hats.

With chess pretty much out of the picture for me, Reid and I still spent time together, mostly watching classic _Doctor Who_ in between the newer series of episodes. We already had it planned to watch the upcoming Christmas special together. But where the most recent Doctor, David Tennant, was my favorite, Reid's was Tom Baker, the Fourth Doctor, who was iconic for wearing a long, striped scarf. None of the available scarves were striped, but one was a lovely shade of purple that I thought he would like.

I felt extremely successful as I paid cash for my loot, hiding the Hot Wheels from Michael. Michael and I said good bye; he drove off while I walked the two blocks down to the bookstore Reid had told me about. It was early enough in December that stores were still advertising for seasonal help. And I really wanted some cash in my pockets as well as something else to do with my time.

Reid was waiting for me outside with a travel cup of coffee in his hand. The bookstore was next door to the café he had taken me to last year, which seemed a lifetime ago.

"Hi, Spencer," I greeted with a smile. "Sorry if you were waiting long."

"Not at all," he assured me. "Shopping for presents?" he asked.

I told him what I had gotten for Michael and Garcia, earning a smile from him when he heard what I had picked for Garcia. Then Reid gestured me into the store, Monarch Books, the telltale bell dinging our entrance. There were about a dozen people inside shopping or browsing the shelves and tables. The store was about the size of Dad's apartment, a counter and cashier toward the front, round tables in the center displaying special offers and then tall book shelves set up against the walls. I inhaled the scents of paper, glue, cinnamon, and pine. Evergreen boughs were decorating the shelves, complete with glass ornaments.

"Spencer!"

Reid and I turned toward the man walking over to us. He was around my father's age, maybe a little older, with graying hair, large glasses, and a pleasantly broad and friendly face. He was short, only a few inches taller than I was, and on the rounder side, dressed in corduroy pants, a button down shirt, and a jacket. Even my growing paranoid instincts were telling me this was a man you could trust.

Reid's easy manner with him only confirmed that.

"Colin, it's good to see you."

I suppressed a grin when Reid had to bend forward slightly to shake his hand.

"It's been too damn long, boy," Colin admonished him. "I have a wonderful edition of William Blake's _Songs of Innocence and Experience_ I've been wanting to show you. But that will wait until you've introduced this lovely young lady to me."

At that reminder, Reid waved me forward. "Right, Colin Morris, this is Rachel Gideon, my…co-worker's daughter. I thought she might be a good fit here for some part time work."

I didn't react when Reid hesitated about what to call my father, but reached out to shake Colin's hand when the man offered. I met his gaze as he examined me closely.

"Any friend of Spencer's is sure to be fond of books," Colin commented.

"Actually, I've loved reading since before I met him," I corrected politely.

"And he's a fairly accurate judge of character," Colin went on. "All that profiler training, I'm sure. You know, he warned me about an employee once, turns out the guy was stealing from the till."

I wasn't sure how to respond to that, so I gestured to the shelved books. "Are you organized by the Dewey Decimal system? It looks like it, but I can't tell completely without getting closer."

Colin's gaze sharpened, flicked up to Reid's bemused face, and then back to mine. "My late wife who helped me set up twenty years ago was a librarian. Very good." He waited a beat more before he continued. "Part time work, is it? After school and weekends, I'm guessing."

"Yes, sir," I answered. "I don't know how to work a cash register, but I know how to organize and keep things neat."

"That will come," Colin told me. He looked again at Reid. "Well, Spencer has never steered me wrong before, so we'll go through the holiday season, say end of January, and then see if it's working out. I pay eight fifty an hour for the first four months, then bump it up to nine for those that deserve it. Sound fair?"

"Sounds fair," I agreed.

We shook hands and a grin spread out on Colin's face. "Wonderful. Come back tomorrow and we'll handle the paperwork, you can start then, too."

I grinned back. "Fabulous, thank you very much." I looked up at Reid. "Thanks, Spencer."

"No problem, Rachel. Colin didn't even tell you perks yet."

I looked back at my new boss. Colin winked at me. "Fifteen percent discount here and for the Crown Cafe next door for employees, and ten percent for our very loyal and frequent customers." He winked. "We call it the Royal Treatment."

"Colin's mother owns the café," Reid explained.

No wonder Reid always went to this café when he could.

Colin encouraged me to look around and get a lay of the land while he and Reid looked at that book of poetry. Luckily, the shop was large enough that it didn't feel cramped but not so large that I couldn't see everything from any part. It would be easy to find my way around. While I was looking, I picked up some picture books for Jack and a book on Broadway musicals for Haley.

As I was driving back to Hotch's house, I kept thinking about what I could get him as the last person I needed to shop for. Not bad for a single day of shopping, but Hotch was my most important gift to buy. We were still feeling our way into whatever relationship we had between my own paternal issues and his familial ones. I didn't want a replacement for Dad and Hotch knew it, just as I wasn't just a fill in for Haley and Jack. I just couldn't think of anything that would say all that I wanted to say to him.

And unfortunately, I still didn't have an idea before the holiday party. There was still a week and a half before Christmas and I wouldn't have been giving Hotch his gift then anyway, but I was getting a little frantic. Money wasn't an issue anymore; I had my first paycheck from working at Monarch with another one due soon.

But I tried to enjoy the party. Someone—probably Garcia—had strung fairy lights around the railings of the bull pen in addition to the paper decorations of stars and Christmas trees hung on the walls. There was even a row of stockings along one cubicle boundary that had a name for everyone who worked on the floor. One table was set up with drinks like sodas, water, coffee, punch and eggnog, another had finger foods and snacks. All the white elephant gifts were on the table in the conference room, ready to be passed out. And of course there was a sprig of mistletoe right at the bottom of the staircase.

Mostly, it was agents with their significant others, a handful of kids, and some agents from the other departments. Apparently, due to Garcia's machinations, the BAU party was known to be the best. Everyone was in holiday colors, like Hotch's red tie, Reid's green vest, and Garcia's sweater with the dancing elves on it. For myself, I had put on some black jeans and a deep V-neck crimson shirt with a white, lacy camisole underneath.

For the most part, no one seemed to pay me any special attention, but then it seemed like word got out about whose daughter I was. I had pretty much stayed close just the team when I could, but I really noticed what was going on when I was getting a refill on my punch.

"Gideon's daughter, her mother was murdered."

"Can't say I'm surprised he left and all."

"Poor girl."

It wasn't anything I hadn't heard before, or didn't think myself come to that, but I didn't want people _looking_ at me like that. I still got enough of that at school. Garcia was off with Kevin Lynch, Hotch was talking with JJ about something, and Reid was doing magic tricks for the handful of kids that were there. I looked around for a place to hide away for a few minutes and hurried up the stairs. Hotch's office was dark and I was able to slip in without anyone noticing.

At least, I thought I had gone unnoticed, proven wrong when someone opened the door five minutes later. I looked up from my chair and saw David Rossi enter the office, a glass of something in his hand and shut the door behind him.

"They certainly party harder than when I was here," he remarked, taking the seat next to me.

He didn't seem concerned when I didn't answer him. In the couple of months since he had been back on the team, I still didn't know what to make of him. I had heard from Reid some of the tactics he took in the field with witnesses and the others on the team.

As the silence drew on, I realized that he was waiting me out, a ploy I remembered from Dad. And damn it, it was working.

"Did you want something?" I asked.

Rossi shrugged and took a sip of his drink. "I was just looking to escape for a bit."

"You have your own office," I pointed out.

I caught his measuring glance as it swept over me, resisting the urge to flinch. He was good, but I'd faced worse, my father and the serial killer who had murdered my mother included.

"Speaking of my office," Rossi said after awhile. "I've been meaning to give this to you."

The plaque had been hidden by his leg while he sat. When he handed it to me, I traced the indented name. _Jason Gideon_.

"I imagine it must be hard to see someone else in your dad's office."

It was my turn to shrug. "I was only ever in there one time. And that was once too many for his liking."

Rossi nodded his understanding. "Right. Separation of work and family, how could I forget?" he asked rhetorically.

"Whatever," I muttered, sick to death of that bit of hypocrisy.

"You know, your father and I may never have gotten along, but it was a valid point."

I looked him squarely in the eyes. "And what about running off, claiming it was for my own good? Is that valid?"

Of course the BAU agent held my gaze steadily even as I was almost glaring at him. "No," he answered calmly. "And if I should ever meet up with your father again, believe me, I will make that point clear to him. Now, he'll probably tell me that I have no right to say anything because I'm not a father."

I snorted. That sounded like exactly what Dad would say.

"But then, your father was always good for an argument," Rossi continued. "Seems like that was most of what we did."

"Yeah, I heard," I cut him off wearily. "Look, seriously, you don't have to do this."

"Do what?"

"Pretend to be nice to me, talk to me, keep me company, whatever you're doing right now."

Rossi pursed his lips. "Is that what you think I'm doing? Pretending?"

"Why else would you be here?" I asked. "If you wanted to be alone, you have your own office. If you wanted to be with people, there's the party. People you should be getting to know better anyway."

"You think I should be getting to know them better," Rossi repeated back at me.

I huffed out a breath. "Yes. It's important." He stared at me until I continued. "First of all, you're on the team now. I know that's not how it was done in the good ol' days, but that's what it is now. You guys see horrific things everyday, you analyze it, you chase it, you confront it. And I've seen what that does to people, not just my father. Sure, you're on the team, but there's a difference between working on a team and working _with_ a team."

"And second?"

I had to look away while I answered him. "Spencer, Hotch, Garcia, the whole team? They're amazing, remarkable people and they're all I have right now." I was proud that my voice caught only a little bit. "And I don't want to see any of them get hurt because _you_ don't know how to trust them. My dad? He didn't just shut me out, he shut out the whole team. So if you're really so much different from him, prove it."

I got up and made my way to the door, wanting to escape this maddening man and his assessing gaze. I was kind of embarrassed that he had gotten me to say all those things, but I guess that's just proof as to how good he is as an agent.

"Wait up, kiddo."

Crap, but Mom had raised me with manners. I hesitated at the door as Rossi joined me and gestured me out the door, half bowing as he did so.

"Come on," he said. "I'll play nicely with the others as long as you keep me company."

My mouth must have dropped open, and if it didn't, it certainly did after what Rossi said next.

"And as long as you're with me, all the others will be gossiping about me instead of you."

It shouldn't have surprised me that an agent like Rossi knew what had driven me away from the party, but I was surprised that he commented on it and offered a solution. Namely, setting himself up as the target so that I could fade into the background.

"You are really confusing," I said honestly.

Rossi smirked at me, and I no longer wondered how he had gotten three women to marry him.

"That's half the fun, kiddo."

By then, we were at the bottom of the stairs and came to an abrupt halt when I noticed that at least half the agents in the room were staring at us in disbelief. I froze, reminded once again how much I liked being in the band instead of center stage.

But Rossi just took it all in stride, smirked at the room at large, and then leaned in to kiss me on the cheek. To my absolute shock, he just glanced up above our heads.

"Mistletoe," Rossi explained. "But I don't want Hotch or Morgan coming after me for inappropriately kissing a minor."

"Right, of course," I recovered. "Especially with how protective they are with me on top of that."

The rest of the party was much better. True to his word, Rossi dragged me along as he mingled so that all attention was on him, not me. Of course, our partnership itself caused a stir and within sixty seconds, Hotch, Morgan, and Garcia all circled around to check in on me and causally interrogate Rossi. They tried to get him to admit what he was up to, or what he was up to concerning me. Rossi just smiled and redirected their inquiries. No one was fooled, but the game was still played.

I went home with Hotch, feeling oddly more content with my life and with a small stack of presents from people to open for Christmas. I was on winter break a few days later, filling the time with more hours at the bookshop, hanging out with Michael, and starting college researching at Hotch's suggestion.

For Christmas itself, Hotch and I waited until Jack was over for a few hours to open our gifts. Jack opened toys and games from the BAU crowd and from Hotch, but he proudly declared that he would read the books I had given him that night before bed. For gifts, Jack had made Christmas ornaments in school and had made one each for Haley, Hotch, and myself. I don't know what Haley's looked like, but Hotch's was cardboard circle, painted red with a white star in the middle. Mine was a popsicle stick painted silver with black circles which Jack told me was supposed to by my flute. I gave Jack a great big kiss.

My own gifts started with _The Phantom of the Opera_ on DVD from Haley. Garcia had bought me a vegetarian cooking book along with a pair of pajamas, green with pink tea pots and cupcakes. Emily and Morgan had bought me a $100 gift card to iTunes which had me dreaming of my future purchases. From Reid, I opened a set of wind chimes the length of my forearm. His detailed note explained to me that the tones from the chimes were meant to help calm my anxiety and center my thoughts.

It wasn't until Jack was playing with his new action figures, Hotch and I exchanged the gifts we had gotten each other. Judging from the slightly nervous expression on his face, Hotch had struggled over his gift as much as I had. He insisted that I open mine first. I unwrapped a spiral bound notebook with its hard covers patterned with printed music. There was also an elegant silver pen with a metal nub with a few tubes of different colored ink.

"I thought that since you'll be on your own so much, you might need a place to work out your thoughts," Hotch explained. "You've had a lot happen to you in the last year, writing out what you're feeling will help you process it."

I ran my fingers over the cover and felt the slight indentations of the music. I looked up to meet Hotch's eyes, fighting back tears.

"Thanks, Hotch. This is really special."

When I handed Hotch the wrapped package that was his gift, he frowned at me.

"Rachel, I hope you didn't spend too much on this," he said.

I shrugged. It was rather large, about the size of two open textbooks and about the same weight. "Just open it."

What Hotch found as he ripped the wrapping paper away was a set of picture frames all connected together, ten of them all told. I had found it when I went back to the thrift store, the black metal of the frames a little tarnished. I had spent an hour cleaning and polishing it.

"It's for pictures of Jack," I told him. "So you can still see your son everyday and so much better than a single photo."

Hotch sat in stunned silence for a moment before he reached out and pulled me into a tight hug.

"Thank you."

Within seconds, Hotch had his camera out and was snapping pictures of Jack as he played with his new toys. He even convinced me to sit with Jack in my lap and got some posed shots of the two of us as well as others when I got on the floor to play with the toddler. Later, I snagged the camera away and took my own shots of him and Jack together.

That night, I was over at Reid's apartment, both of us armed with tea and shortbread cookies, watching _Doctor Who's_ Christmas special _The Runaway Bride_.

The next day, I found a package for me at the front door without a return address. Paranoid as I was, I called Hotch to check it out before opening it. I felt validated when Hotch approached it with caution as well. I opened it while he was still there, just in case, and found two objects: a Mardi Gras mask with green and purple feathers and jewels, and a tree ornament shaped like a red cardinal. It didn't take either of us long to guess who had sent them.

"Rachel?" Hotch asked, leaving his question open ended, but I could guess what he wanted to say. _Are you okay? How do you feel? Do you want me to take care of it? What do you want to do?_

I wanted to throw them out, not feeling charitable toward guilt gifts. But at least they were proof that Dad was alive and still remembered I existed. In the end, I kept them in the box and hid it away in the back of my closet. Out of sight, out of mind.

It wasn't perfect, of course it wasn't. I missed the cinnamon rolls Mom would make Christmas mornings, and really, I just missed _Mom_. I missed Dad for all I was still pissed off at him. But I wasn't going to throw away my other gifts just because they weren't exactly what I wanted. I had a family, I reminded myself, unconventional and unofficial as it was.

* * *

Notes:

Merry Christmas! Happy Holidays!

I meant to get this chapter out yesterday, but I was a little bit occupied. While I'm at it, next week's chapter might also be a few days late (probably Wednesday) as I'll be out of town to visit my sisters. After that, there will be another break while I work on completing the rest of _Mvt III_.

I'll admit, it took me a long time to figure out presents for this chapter. Especially those between Rachel and Hotch. I didn't want to be too sappy as that's not in character for either of them, but I thought it needed to be personal and meaningful. I hope I pulled that off.

I kind of have this image in my head of Rachel walking away and Rossi watching her and shaking his head in bemusement/amazement. I think Rachel is going to be the type of person he really doesn't expect from Gideon's daughter and that he's going to genuinely like her and look out for her for her own sake. Now, just like with Hotch, Rossi is absolutely not going to become Rachel's new father (more like both of them are vague father-like figures) and is probably closer to that cool uncle type that tells you how to manipulate your parents. Any way, that's what I'm going for.

I hope everyone has a wonderful holiday no matter of company, location, or traditions (the old and the new). Thank you all for reading and supporting me in this endeavor. That is truly a gift.

Cantoris


	9. Rhapsody in Blue

_George Gershwin's Rhapsody in Blue-a 1924 musical composition by_ f_or solo piano and jazz band, which combines elements of classical music with jazz-influenced effects_

While most of my fellow band and orchestra students were packing for a week long trip to Chicago, I was also packing my other belongings into boxes to be moved while I was away. It was official: Hotch and Haley were divorced. She and Jack would be moving back into the house while Hotch and I moved into an apartment. It would become my third address in one year.

I was sad for them, in ways that I really didn't know how to express. Granted, with my parents' unorthodox arrangement, maybe I was just more prone to hold marriage sacred, or maybe not. But I knew the point Haley was trying to make by forcing the divorce through. She loved him still, she knew that he loved her fiercely, but she couldn't put up with The Job anymore. However much I knew this whole thing was slowly killing Hotch inside, I knew if they had stayed together, it would have worn them both down until they hated each other.

Haley had made it a point to sit down with me just the two of us even before Hotch did. Actually, that was because I had known she wanted an uncontested divorce before he did.

"I want you to know, as Aaron is your legal guardian now, you are part of the divorce settlement and custody," Haley had told me. We had met at the Crown Café where I was able to use my discount to buy us mochas.

"What does that mean exactly?" I had asked. "Won't custody be hard to arrange with the out of town cases?"

She had seemed so tired, not even her mocha was perking her up.

"With Jack… I want Aaron to have visitation, of course, but custody would be difficult for exactly why you said. But you are almost an adult and with everything that's happened lately, I think you deserve to tell me what you want to happen. You can stay with me and Jack at the house, or you can go with Aaron."

I sat there, stunned, for several moments. It hadn't even occurred to me that Haley would offer this. In my mind, I wasn't her problem or responsibility. I thought about living with her, seeing her every day, having someone around on a regular basis. I pictured Jack running around me as I came in from school or work, watching me practice my flute, or giggling while I made brownies and trying to eat the batter. Stability, constancy, normalcy.

It was homey, it was comfortable-it was painful. I had had my life with Mom almost like that. And just as Hotch wasn't taking my dad's place, I knew Haley wasn't taking Mom's. But the more I thought of it, I knew that it wasn't my place to intrude on her life with Jack, however short-lived it would be.

And I couldn't help but picture Hotch, alone and lonely in a bland and empty apartment, knowing that his family was somewhere else. I knew what it was like to feel abandoned by the people you love the most. Even if I wasn't his family in strictest terms, I couldn't leave him, especially after all he'd done for me. I couldn't do any less.

When I explained all this to Haley, she smiled gently and reached out to squeeze my hand.

"All right, if that's what you want. But you call me if you need anything, you hear? Jack misses his favorite baby sitter."

I told Hotch about it when I got off of work that day. He hadn't seemed surprised that Haley was pushing him to sign so that they wouldn't have to spend money going to court. But I think I really caught him off guard when I told him about my choice.

"I would have thought I would remind you too much of your father," he had admitted, just a trace of bitterness in his voice. "Obviously, our job doesn't make family life easy."

"You're nothing like him," I said low and serious. "You'll never walk out on your family. And no family is easy. It all comes down to how much work you want to put into it."

He had stared at me with such admiration, I blushed.

So I had to pack everything up again with the thought that I would be packing up again in a year and a half for college. I was already receiving recruitment letters in the mail and I had the SATs to look forward to next month. I was still clueless as to where I wanted to go and what I wanted to study besides music which was a given.

The morning we were flying out was the first Monday of spring break. We would all leave from the school to Dulles, thankfully, or I was certain Garcia would insist on the whole BAU seeing me off. As it was, she and Kevin drove me to school since Hotch and Reid were prepping for a custodial interview and the rest of the team was catching up on paperwork.

"Be safe, have fun, remember you can walk into any FBI field office that exists and drop our names to get help," Garcia reminded me as she made Kevin carry my suitcase inside. From the look on his face, she was promising him something special in compensation, or he was just her lapdog already.

"I really don't think I'll need the FBI on a school band trip," I pointed out.

Garcia was not convinced. "You call me at the first hint of trouble and get to that office likity-split, chica."

"I hear and obey, your majesty," I promised, executing a mocking half-bow.

"Enough flattery, go join the other adolescent mortals."

I got a crushing hug from Garcia and an awkward one from Kevin before they left. It looked like half of the students were in the band room already, the floor crowded with suitcases. I checked in with Mr. Rose and then joined Liz who was leaning against one wall.

"You'd think I was going away for a month the way they carried on," I muttered.

Liz grinned. "Your new guardians?" she asked.

"Fairy godmother and her willing slave," I answered with a grin of my own.

My tour roommate accepted this answer.

"So what are you looking forward to the most?" I asked.

Our tour schedule included four concerts, at three churches and one high school, with home stays for most of our nights. For fun, we would be visiting the Shedd Aquarium, the Field Museum, the Chicago Botanic Gardens, and Six Flags Great America. We would also have some down time when we could choose what to do, depending on what our host families were willing to do for us.

"Aquarium, definitely," Liz answered. "I'm thinking of studying marine biology in college, especially dolphins."

Liz was a calm, steady, and caring girl. She would be perfect with animals. I felt even more clueless for not knowing what I wanted to study.

Ten minutes later, Michael walked in and hesitantly approached us. It wasn't as if _everyone_ hated him, but most seemed to avoid him on principle. Even Liz, who was one of the most sensible teenaged girls I knew, said a quick "hello, excuse me, good bye" before she went off to talk with some other kids.

"Another point for my social life," Michael muttered.

"It doesn't help that you glower at people," I told him.

"I don't glower," he argued petulantly. "I stare in a forbidding manner."

Within a half hour, everyone was present and checked in, so we loaded ourselves and our instruments into the buses to take us to the airport. Checking in there was tricky with the brass and percussion instruments, making me grateful again for my small flute case. It wasn't until I was boarding the plan after sitting at the gate for an hour that I remembered the last time I had gone on a plane.

Flying to Georgia at the crack of dawn after being woken from a dead sleep by the deranged psychopath who had abducted Reid. My stomach churned at the memories and I drank ginger ale from the drink cart

"Nervous flier?" Liz asked at one point.

"Something like that."

The week went according to plan with no major train wrecks or SNAFU's. On the tour bus, I would either sit with Liz and some others, or I would sit with Michael on our own. When I didn't, at least Michael could hang out with the other percussion guys. Otherwise I would have felt guilty for leaving him alone when I was the one who had insisted that he come.

We had a tour of the city by bus when we landed and then checked into hotel rooms for the night. Most kids gathered for parties in each others' rooms until late in the night. A small group ended up in Liz's and my room where I proceeded to beat just about everybody at poker and won myself a pile of coins and small bills.

The next day, we went to the Shedd Aquarium which was great, especially the dolphin show. For our first concert that night at a Methodist church, it went very well. Half the program was the band with Mrs. Kessler directing and the other half was orchestra with Mr. Rose. It was that night I got a major surprise.

Liz and I were waiting with everyone else to receive our home stay assignments once the concert was finished.

"Gideon, Peterson," Mrs. Kessler called out.

We made our way to the front of the crowd and found an older woman, on the high side of middle aged, with another younger woman, maybe mid-twenties. What was striking was that the older woman was white with curly red hair and the younger was African-American with straight black hair.

"This is Fran and Desiree Morgan, they'll be your host family for the next two nights," Mrs. Kessler told us.

While Liz responded with "Nice to meet you both, thank you," I was staring hard and wondering if it was coincidence.

Fran caught my gaze and smiled widely. "Yes, I'm Derek's mother. He told us you would be in the area and asked if we wouldn't mind taking you in for a couple of nights."

I smiled, touched that Morgan had done this, touched that his mother was doing this, and then a little embarrassed that it was all happening.

"I'm so happy to meet you," I said, shooting a look at Liz that I would explain later.

Fran was a fabulous host, letting Liz and I get settled in one of the bedrooms without hovering. Once we were alone, I told Liz who Morgan was and why he would want his family to look after me, even if just for two nights. Well, I only told her that the team liked to look out for me without all the details why they would be so protective of me.

Over dinner, we were also joined by Morgan's sister, Sarah, and I got a few blackmail stories out of them to use against the FBI agent when I got back. I found out from them that they had apparently met the team last year when they'd come to Chicago on a case. Apparently, they also thought that Reid was pretty cute in a geeky way. But Fran didn't let us go on too long and was able to also ask both Liz and I what our interests were and what we had planned for school in the future.

It wasn't until I was back in bed that I realized what case had happened last year which had called the BAU out to Chicago: Morgan being arrested for homicide. I had never heard the ending of that case besides the obvious fact that Morgan had come back, free of homicide charges.

I had troubled and vague dreams that night, making me tired and withdrawn while we were at the Field museum during the day. I was so tired that when Liz met up with some others of our group to hang out at the mall, I asked to stay behind. I sent quick texts to Hotch, Reid, and Garcia to say I was fine and having a good time so far—not quite a lie, but not exactly the whole truth.

The knock on the door startled me, but I relaxed when Fran poked her head in.

"I thought you might like some tea," she offered, bearing two mugs in her hands.

I summoned up a smile. "Thank you."

She came to sit next to me on the bed, handing me one of the mugs containing chamomile and peppermint tea.

"Thank you," I said again. "I still can't believe that Morgan called you."

Fran smiled at that. "Well, he didn't come right out and ask us, you know. He just talked about you and mentioned your tour and how he would feel better knowing that someone was checking in on you."

I grimaced. "I've got the whole freaking team playing mother hen," I complained under my breath.

"Yes, I did notice the strong bonds the team has for each other," Fran agreed. "I'm glad for it. I know my boy isn't alone, facing all these dangerous people, and I know he's a good man to be looking out for them."

I didn't ask her what had happened a year ago, it still wasn't my place to know. I didn't ask her what Morgan had told her about me and my parents. But we shared our tea and talked about Morgan and Reid and the others, just the light-hearted stuff.

Once Fran left, I picked up my phone again and sent a text to Morgan, thanking him for what he did. Then I dialed Garcia.

"Hey, Penelope. Would you like to have something really sweet and adorable to hold over Morgan's head?"

I was still feeling out of sorts the next day, so I walked through the Chicago Botanic Gardens on my own for the most part. I made it through the English garden, Japanese garden, and Dwarf Pine garden on my own, reminded constantly of my mother as I looked at the flowers and trees. She had always gardened at home, happy to work outside after being cooped up inside at the clinic all day. Mom had believed in the power of nature, making sure we had tons of indoor plants that she tended and maintaining potted plants at the clinic instead of the fake kind most hospitals used.

Michael caught up to me at the Waterfall garden where I was playing at becoming one myself.

"I just miss her so much," I admitted, knowing Michael would just listen. "It hurts like I can't breathe sometimes."

Michael sat next to me on a bench and took my hand in his. We sat together for maybe an hour before it was getting close to our pick up time to get to our concert venue for the night. On the way out, I stopped and pulled out most of my money to leave in the donation box. Maybe Mom wouldn't want me to give away that much, but I felt like I had to. Michael followed my example without a word.

I was fine for the concert and joined Liz and her group the next day at the mall for some shopping. By Saturday, I was back to my usual self for the most part, riding coasters and eating Dippin' Dots at Six Flags Great America. Our final concert went as well as the others and we were flying back to Dulles the next day.

Hotch, Emily, and Reid were waiting for me at the airport. Most of the other kids would be bused back to the school to be picked up there, but I had called and asked Hotch to meet me when we landed. It had only been a week and despite the good times I had had, I was desperately homesick. As soon as I had my luggage from the carousel and had checked out with Mr. Rose, I was booking it to the exit gate.

I hadn't expected Emily or Reid, but when I saw them with Hotch, I picked up my pace. Profilers all, they must have read my face to know what I needed because as soon as I was close enough, all three had pulled me into a group embrace that I sank into like water into sand.

"Thank you," I whispered. "Thank you."

I pulled away, not caring that my classmates were walking past me and thinking God knows what.

"Let's go home," Hotch said, grabbing my suitcase for me. "Morgan's waiting with an SUV."

I laughed when I saw Morgan had sweet-talked the traffic cop to leave him and the SUV alone. Whether he used his usual charm or his badge, I would never know, but I came up and kissed him on the cheek while Hotch loaded my suitcase into the trunk. Morgan drove, Hotch rode shotgun, and I was sandwiched between Reid and Emily in the back.

I spent the ride detailing my week, slipping in one or two stories I had from Morgan's sisters that made him sputter and deny all charges to everyone's amusement. I talked about the aquarium and museum for Reid, and both Hotch and Emily wanted to hear about the concerts. All in all, it felt really good to share my stories with them like I would have with Mom and Dad.

Hotch and I got dropped off at the apartment complex that was our new home. The condo Hotch had decided on was a two-bedroom suite with one and a half bathrooms, living room, side office, and kitchen. There was even a closet off of the office with a washer and dryer so we could do laundry right there. Hotch already had his boxes and suitcases in the larger bedroom with my blessing. He had the larger bathroom with a tub while my bathroom just had a shower. I was just thankful we each had our own, no matter which of us had what.

My bedroom was about the same size as my room back at Dad's old apartment, but since Hotch would let me use his desk and computer in his office, I would have more space in the room without my own desk. So Morgan and Anderson had apparently gone to the storage unit where my furniture from my old house was being stored and brought in my double bed, bookshelves, nightstand, and dresser. The closet was just large enough that I could step inside but not much more. I had enough room under the bed for storage.

Best of all, Garcia had brought Hannah and her things over earlier in the day. Garcia was apparently spending the day with Kevin but had left me a welcome home present in the form of a stuffed bunny laid out on the bed she had already made up with brand new light purple sheets and a vivid green and purple bedspread.

I dropped my carry on back pack and suitcase on the floor next to my stack of boxes and flopped on the bed. Hannah came up to join me immediately, purring her own welcome and crawling to nestle on top of my stomach.

"Everything all right in here?"

I looked up and saw Hotch standing in the doorway. I propped myself up on my elbows, ignoring Hannah's protests.

"Yeah, it's good."

It may have been the third bed and room that I've had to call my own in the last year and I hadn't even slept in it once. I had yet another address to remember and I still had no idea where Dad was. But I still had a home: I had my cat, I had Hotch and Reid and the team, I had Michael. It would never be the home I still longed for in my dreams, but it was enough.

* * *

Notes:

So sorry about the tardiness of this chapter, but it's been a crazy week as I'm sure everyone can relate. I hope you all had a fun and safe holiday and enjoying whatever time off you may have still from school/work/life.

I had to choose Gershwin for this chapter because of the Chicago connection. Fran was a last minute addition that literally flowed out of my fingers without checking with my brain first. My brain then thanked my fingers profusely. What I did always have planned was most of the team picking Rachel up at the airport. It's shamelessly based on events from my own life. My grandmother died the night before one of my European tours and my family insisted that I should still go because that's what my grandmother would have wanted. So I did go, missed the funeral, and like Rachel, I had a lot of good times mixed with some sad moments. When my parents picked me up at the airport, I literally ran up and collided with them just as I had Rachel do. Hence, my inspiration for how you can still have a good time and grieve at the same time.

Sad to say, this now marks the second "break" until I finish up with _Mvt III_. I've got another one or two chapters in the works and then I should be ready. After that, we've got _Mvt IV_ to look forward to. Thank you all for reading and commenting. Hope you liked it.

Cantoris


	10. Trans-Siberian Orchestra

_Trans-Siberian Orchestra-an American progressive rock band known for their incorporation of classical, orchestral, symphonic, and progressive elements into rock and heavy metal music_

"Rachel, do you have a moment?"

I looked up from the stack of books in my arm, waiting to be shelved. Colin Morris, owner of Monarch Books and my boss was waving me over to where he was sitting at the cash register.

"Thirty seconds," I promised.

It was closer to twenty seconds but then I was walking through the middle of the store and stopping at the front counter.

"What do you need?" I asked.

Colin was a short man on the rounder side with glasses that made him seem like a cross between a wizard and a dwarf. He dressed like a librarian or professor in khaki or corduroy pants with buttoned shirts and tweed jackets. He probably had more liking and respect for books than people, but it just made him well-suited for his shop. His right hand manager, a woman named Isabelle McMahon or Izzy for short, was the friendly people-person. But Colin was kind in his own way and he was a good boss.

"Be a dear, run next door and ask my mother for the usual afternoon order," Colin instructed me. "Plus whatever you like."

"All right."

"And don't let my mother fool you into thinking you need to pay for it," he added sternly with a hint of spark in his eyes. "We have a running tab."

I smiled in response.

The Crown Café was Monarch's neighbor, owned and run by Colin's mother Matilda Morris. I had been there once before last year, when Reid had taken me there to explain why my father had been acting out of sorts. It seemed like a lifetime ago.

Despite the very different purposes of the stores, a similar feel emanated from both, being homey and casual and comfortable. The walls were an identical creamy white with bright mahogany wood work for the tables and bookshelves. Both made use of large, plush chairs in shades of dark brown, green, and navy for customers to sit and enjoy a drink and/or a book. But where the store smelled of paper and wood polish, the café smelled of coffee and baking bread. And where the store was full of bookshelves, the café had about two dozen tables with chairs and a long counter with bar stools and a pastry display.

I approached the counter and took a seat, waiting for the girl behind to take notice of me. There were about ten people inside, being only around two in the afternoon and therefore after the lunch rush but before schools got out.

"Hi, what can I get for you today?" a cheerful voice asked.

I looked up and saw the girl had made her way over to me. She looked to be a few years older than I was, certainly taller than I was, and sported blond hair with purple streaks. She wore heavy eye liner and mascara but not a lot of other make up and her clothing reminded me a little of Garcia's with a little more Gothic punk to the style.

"I work next door with Colin and he sent me for the usual order," I answered the girl.

Her eyes dawned in understanding. "So _you're_ Dr. Reid's friend. My dad's told me about you."

Realization hit me as I guessed who she had to be. "Then you must be Natasha."

"Guilty," Natasha answered. "Let me get started on that order. Anything for you?"

"Um, just a green tea, please," I answered.

Natasha shook her head. "No can do. This is your first time with us getting the perks, you have to have something special."

I shrugged. "I have been here before, you know. I really liked the hot chocolate," I admitted.

"How do you feel about mochas?" Natasha asked.

"I typically only drink them in the morning."

"I insist you try my Tuxedo Mocha, you'll never be the same."

"I'm guessing I don't really get to refuse."

It was Natasha's turn to shrug and she smirked. "Not so much, no."

"Just this once, for the first time," I gave in.

Natasha smirked again and whirled away to get started. Watching her, I could tell she had been at this gig for awhile, since she was fifteen if I remembered Colin correctly. She had chosen to work in the café rather than the book store and was now studying at culinary school to take over for her grandmother when the time came.

"So my dad tells me that Dr. Reid worked with your father?" Natasha asked as she finished my mocha and set it before me.

"Yeah," I confirmed. I still didn't like talking about Dad, especially to strangers.

"That would make your dad an FBI agent then? Sounds interesting."

"It's complicated," I corrected.

Natasha's eyes lit up. "Complicated means interesting."

"That would depend on your definition of interesting," I replied a little sharply.

"Well, leaving it a mystery certainly makes it seem interesting," Natasha pointed out, casual in the face of my growing irritation.

"My dad was an FBI agent until he left six months ago and no one's heard from him since," I explained shortly.

Natasha's eyebrows jumped to her hairline, but her hands kept working steadily on the other drinks she was making.

"We all have our tragic little stories, don't we?" she asked. "Taste that, will you? I want to know what you think."

I looked in surprise at the mocha in my hands that I had forgotten. I obediently sipped and savored the mellow white chocolate with a bite of dark chocolate mixed in.

"You don't know the half of it," I told her. "And this is really good."

"If you feel like talking a little, just tell my dad I was slow with the drinks," Natasha offered. "He knows I like to interrogate the new employees any way."

I hadn't had to explain to many people about what had happened to my mom. Everyone I knew already knew about it and I hadn't really met anyone new since then. Gossip sometimes had its upsides.

"My mom was murdered last year," I said baldly, treating the admission like a band-aid. I ignored how Natasha's hands finally faltered as she fumbled with the whipped cream canister.

"Oh my God."

"Yeah," I agreed fervently. "It was a serial killer who was targeting my dad. Dad could never deal with it and just left one day. The anniversary for her death is in a few weeks."

I actually made it through without crying, a miracle in my mind. Granted, I still felt that dagger of grief stabbing me in the chest.

"I lost my mom, too," Natasha confided, bringing the remaining drinks over to me and fitting them onto a cardboard tray. "Cancer, about seven years ago."

I estimated her age again and realized she had been fourteen years old. We both waited in silence for a moment, each of us feeling the loss again. Natasha shook herself back to normal first and retrieved a bag, adding a blueberry muffin and shortbread cookie into it. When she raised her eyebrow at me, I pointed at the brownie I remembered so well from a year ago. Natasha nodded her approval at my choice.

"Well, I had better see you around here more often," she ordered, bringing the bag and placing it next to the drink tray. "You and me, we've got lots of talking and fun in our futures, got it?"

I smiled. Natasha was a bit of a bull dozer, but I could see she led with her heart. "Got it."

"Good."

I grabbed the tray and goodie bag and made my way to the door. I looked over my shoulder and saw that Natasha was already at work, putting out a tray of fresh baked croissants on display. I walked quickly back to the book store and set the drinks down on the counter. Colin looked at me shrewdly.

"Get lost?"

"Natasha was running a little behind," I answered.

Colin took his tea and muffin and called over his shoulder for Izzy to come get her caramel frappucino and cookie. My boss continued to stare at me as I struggled to hide the smile on my face.

"Well?" Colin finally asked. "Don't I pay you to do something productive here?"

"Yes, sir," I saluted. Colin grumbled under his breath, but I already knew that he didn't really mean it. He just liked to appear grouchy.

At four, I drove myself home and jumped right into homework. Colin actually didn't have a problem if I brought it with me, but I had been busy enough that I hadn't touched it all afternoon. Hotch was away on a case so I was on my own for dinner. I put together a Greek salad and a grilled cheese and vegged out in front of the TV with Hannah at my feet. At some point, it started to storm with rain, thunder and lightning, scaring my cat under the couch.

I was cleaning up my dishes and checking that all the windows were closed shut when I heard a knock on the door. I shouldn't have felt the immediate jolt of panic that I did, but I would never forget that Frank had knocked on the door and that I had answered it without thought. And I couldn't think of anyone that would come over without calling first.

I walked to the door and looked out through the peep hole, saw who was waiting and fumbled the lock open. Michael stood there waiting, hunched into himself and dripped wet.

"What happened? Are you okay?" I demanded as I brought him inside.

When he looked up to meet my eyes, I knew with certainty what had brought him. Even with his wet hair plastering his head and partially obstructing his face, I saw the red and purple bruise around his left eye and the way he held his arms tightly to his abdomen.

Michael didn't need to tell me that his father had been drunk already at eight in the evening or that Michael had somehow gotten in his way. What did worry me is that Pat Garrett had never hit Michael in such an obvious place or this violently.

There were so many things I could have said, and so many things that I wanted to, but I settled for, "Let's get you dry, okay?"

Michael simply nodded, clearly worn out and hurting. He was also shivering. I wondered how long he had stood outside in the rain before coming in. I changed my trajectory and led Michael to my bathroom, grabbing a spare towel from the cupboard and setting it on the toilet seat.

"You'll have to make do with my shampoo and soap," I explained. "Don't worry, they're not too girly. Get washed up and I'll find something for you to wear while your clothes go through the dryer."

Michael didn't say anything, just looked at me with such gratitude that I brought my hand up to the right side of his face and rested it there gently. Michael had always handled my emotional issues without flinching, I would do the same now.

I left him alone, waiting just outside the door for him to pass his clothing out to me. I didn't move until I heard the shower turn on. After I tossed his shirt, pants, boxers, socks, and hoodie into the dryer, I went to the kitchen and put water into the electric kettle. Then, I went to my closet and searched for something that would fit my much taller friend.

I settled on a pair of flannel pants that would only come down to his shins and one of my own sweatshirts that was stretched out from all the years I'd worn it and washed it. I made a mental note that Michael should start leaving outfits of his clothing in my closet.

I had two mugs of hot chocolate waiting when he came out of the bathroom, wearing his borrowed clothes. Michael joined me on the couch, slumping into the cushions and closing his eyes. I judged the rate of his breathing and then got up to retrieve pain killers and a glass of water from the kitchen as well as the ice pack I had forgotten in the fridge for his black eye.

Once Michael had swallowed, he collapsed back and gingerly applied the ice pack. I waited for him to speak, but he never did and I never pressed him. Michael had driven out in the middle of the night to pick me up once from Mark's house and had accepted when I didn't speak the whole ride home.

"Is there anything else you need or want?" I asked quietly. He hadn't let me see any other injuries, but I was betting that his ribcage was as colorful as his face.

Michael shook his head and closed his eyes. I waited a few breaths, then I reached out and pulled Michael into my arms. I worried if it was hurting him more, but he was holding on tightly enough that I didn't protest. I knew that feeling when you needed to hold onto something to remind yourself that you weren't alone. I rested my head on his shoulder and wrapped my arms around his body.

We ended up reclined on the sofa, still wrapped around each other. My last thought as we drifted off into sleep was that Michael couldn't survive two more months of this.

My next conscious thought was to wonder where the blanket had come from. I blinked and realized that there was sunlight streaming through the windows and the scent of coffee in the air. Wait, coffee….I bounced up off the couch, surprised that I didn't wake Michael, looking around for what I was dreading.

Hotch was indeed standing in the kitchen, pouring himself a cup of coffee. He was dressed for the day in jeans and a polo shirt, his usual weekend attire. While I stared, he looked over at me and then gestured with his head for me to join him. I swallowed and obeyed. It wasn't that I felt I had done anything wrong, but I was worried about what Hotch would be thinking.

"I can explain," I offered quietly. If Michael was still sleeping, he must need the rest. And if he felt safe enough right now to do it, I didn't want to wake him up.

Hotch merely raised an eyebrow at me and leaned against the kitchen counter.

"Nothing happened," I explained. "Michael came over and we fell asleep. That's it. I promise. It was an accident."

"I know," Hotch told me.

I blinked a few times, trying to determine if I had heard him correctly or if I were dreaming.

"What?" I asked inelegantly.

"I know that's all that happened," Hotch repeated. "I came in last night and found you both. I decided to wait until the morning to talk about it."

That was certainly a degree of reasonableness I hadn't expected.

"Oh," I said. "Okay."

Hotch stood there, clearly waiting for me to say something else.

"Um, do we need to talk about something else, too?"

"You could start with the black eye," Hotch answered firmly.

I looked over my shoulder and could see the darkened bruise on Michael's face even with the ice from last night. I frowned and wondered how much I could tell Hotch without Michael getting upset.

"He didn't tell me," I said truthfully.

"But you know anyway," Hotch pointed out.

I had learned my poker face from Reid, but of course Hotch could see through it.

"He won't want you to know," I argued.

"What will help him more?" Hotch asked. "Keeping silent or telling me what's going on?"

I sighed. "I just don't know."

Hotch stared me down.

I brought my hand up to pinch the bridge of my nose. I had known the right answer all along, I was just scared to admit it.

"His father hits him," I said. "This is the worst I've seen."

I watched as Hotch's eyes flicked over to Michael and then back to me. He didn't seem surprised at all and that wasn't just his own poker face, I was pretty sure.

"You already knew, didn't you?" I accused.

My guardian nodded his confirmation. "I suspected."

"Then why didn't you do anything?" I demanded.

A shadow crossed over Hotch's face. "If I had asked Michael directly, your friend would have denied it and maybe cut off contact with you to avoid me. There was no way for me to interfere or investigate unless Michael trusted me. I was hoping that he would tell me himself one day."

I slumped against the counter and fought the urge to cry. "He always said it would be too hard to prove."

"That's very likely."

"What do we do now?"

Hotch sighed and I saw for an instant how much this was weighing down on him, just like me. "We'll wait for him to wake up and take it from there."

I nodded glumly and went to my bedroom to grab a change of clothes. I took a record-fast shower and put on jeans, a tank top, and a sweater. I walked out into the living room after combing out my wet hair and found Hotch sitting on the couch and Michael, awake and sitting next to him. They were talking in low voices but stopped and looked up when I entered the room.

"Hey," I said in greeting.

"Hey," Michael said back. He didn't seem to be upset or uncomfortable that Hotch was there, so I was guessing that he had woken up when I got in the shower and they had already covered the basics.

"Rachel, why don't you get some breakfast," Hotch suggested. "Michael and I have a few more things to discuss."

I didn't move until Michael nodded that he was okay. In the kitchen, I poured myself a cup of coffee—it was that kind of morning already—and retrieved the eggs and other ingredients from the fridge. Making a broccoli and cheddar frittata took up enough time and attention from me that I could more easily ignore the conversation happening in the next room. I even grabbed some brown and serve sausage links from the freezer for the meat eaters which were much easier for me to deal with without feeling sick about it.

Twenty minutes later, I took the frittata out of the oven and made some toast. I was pulling the last slice from the toaster when I noticed Hotch and Michael get up from the couch and come over to the kitchen counter.

"Wow," Hotch commented, looking at the spread of food I had prepared. I even grabbed the carafe of coffee and topped off his mug before I got plates and began slicing the frittata.

Michael only smiled and quietly accepted the plate I had put together for him. I scrutinized him carefully and saw that though he still seemed tired and drained, some of the tension from last night was gone.

"So, what's going on?" I asked.

Both of them exchanged glances and then looked back at me.

"I'm taking Leo up on his offer to sleep on his couch while I look for my own apartment," Michael answered. "He'll even co-sign for me. Since I'm eighteen in two months, that's all I need to do."

"I'll go and explain to Mr. Garrett why it's in his best interest to let this happen without a fight," Hotch added.

I nodded in relief. I had never met Michael's boss at the car shop personally, but I knew that he was a good mentor from the way Michael would talk about him. Learning that Leo had made such an offer was gratifying and that Michael was going to do it.

I never learned exactly what Hotch and Michael had talked about, but I knew it wasn't my business. Finally, _finally_, my friend was going to escape and be safe.

"At this rate, you might as well just call your apartment the sanctuary for troubled teens," I remarked to Hotch.

Michael and I laughed as Hotch sputtered and told us not to let the word spread.

* * *

Notes:

Home stretch here folks. I am pleased to announce that I am half a chapter away from finishing _Mvt III_! Therefore, I've decided to start posting this last set of chapters for your enjoyment. Thank you so much for your patience and your support, it's meant the world to me.

There's a lot that is going to go unspoken for this chapter. Part of that is the show's fault (like Hotch's childhood and family) and some of it is mine (there are some things I just don't want to get into). I will just tell you all that this is the last we ever hear from or about Michael's father. I'm playing fast and loose with some laws and statutes here, but I think you all will understand.

As far as the chapter title, I know, it's a bit of a stretch. I was going with the whole incorporating old and new together thing to symbolize Rachel's friendships with both Michael and Natasha. Also, both Michael and Natasha have that kind of vibe going on with their characters, or at least, that's what I'm hoping.

Thanks for coming back for more. Three more chapters after this and then I start work on _Mvt IV_. Hope you enjoyed and see you back here next week for the next chapter.

Cantoris


	11. Rite of Spring

_Related episode: 3.16 Elephant's Memory_

_Stravinsky's _Rite of Spring-a ballet and orchestral concert work by the Russian composer; the avant-garde nature of the music and choreography caused a near-riot in the audience

There were flashcards spread out on my bed, a stack of text books piled on my nightstand, highlighters and pencils lost in the folds of my bedspread, and Hannah growling from her spot on the floor.

SAT prep with finals a month and a half after that. Clearly, someone hated high school students when this was planned. And as most of my teachers, Reid, and Hotch were prone to remind me, this was the year grades really counted. As if that wasn't bad enough, I had also still tried out for pit band for _Into the Woods_ and made it which added rehearsals on top of my school load along with keeping most of my hours at Monarch Books.

Surrounded by profilers, and none of them have diagnosed me as clinically insane yet. Maybe it was too much paperwork.

It spoke of how focused I was that I didn't even notice Hotch moving around the apartment until he was standing in my door frame, concern plainly written on his face.

"How long have you been at this?" he asked.

I glanced at my watch, blinked a few times, and realized just how late it had gotten.

"For the love of…" I muttered under my breath. "Um, almost four hours."

"And it's past midnight," Hotch pointed out. "Call it a night."

I reached for my physics notes anyway. "Half an hour."

"Rachel."

I froze as I was, looking up into a stern gaze that could make hardened and psychotic criminals quake in fear.

"I'll just pack everything up then."

Hotch stayed to watch as I gathered up the flashcards and put a rubber band around them and organized my backpack for the next morning. In the past few months, Hotch has been acting more and more like a parent toward me, not just a guardian. I actually didn't mind. He never acted exactly like a father, or especially like my father, but it was more in the way we were growing more comfortable with each other that he was willing to step in and help me (even save me from myself) and that I was willing to accept it.

"What are you still doing up?" I asked, stacking the texts and notebooks I wouldn't need tomorrow in their places on my bookshelves.

"Forms from our last case," Hotch answered, frowning slightly.

"The kid my age who decided to shoot all the villains in his life, right?"

"Yes."

Hotch had only just gotten back from Texas this afternoon and I had realized right away that something was still bothering him. There was something in the tightness of his eyes that gave him away, just as the minute drooping of my father's shoulders had been his tell for a tough case.

"Did something happen?" I asked quietly.

Hotch sighed and I knew he was weighing his usual tendency to hold back against my question. That he was hesitating at all meant that whatever had happened was probably horrific and personal at the same time. If it were only gory, Hotch would say so and leave it at that. If it were just personal, he would also just say so and tell me good night.

"Reid disobeyed orders today and risked his life to bring in our suspect alive when the local sheriff's office was ready to shoot," Hotch finally said.

One part of my brain processed that Hotch only told me this because of how much I cared about him. The rest of me wondered which part had freaked Hotch out worse: Reid disobeying or risking his life. Probably both.

"Why would he do that?" I asked. Maybe I would have believed it more easily if Reid had acted to save the life of a victim, but not the suspect.

"This case was very close to Reid," Hotch explained tersely.

I was walking a thin line of Hotch's patience and considering the time of night, I just nodded and said good night. Not that I was going to just leave it at that. Sure, I was okay with not knowing everything about the team's cases, but when it was personal for one of them, I wanted to know about it. I don't know if I always wanted to know so that I would be prepared for it to come up or so that I could think of ways to help if I could.

Reid kept odd hours himself, so when I sent him a text asking to meet for lunch the next day, I got an affirmative response right away. Then I crawled under my covers and breathed deeply to try and calm my twirling thoughts.

The next morning, I had it worked out that Hotch would drive me to school for pit band rehearsal in the morning on his way to pick up Jack for a few hours and Reid would pick me up, take me to the Crown Café for coffee and then I could work a bit at Monarch. After that, I could go to Reid's apartment to study with him for the SAT's, we'd have dinner, and then watch _Doctor Who_. Sounded like the perfect Saturday to me.

And yeah, I would also have time to figure out what was going on with Reid. I would never claim to have perfect motives.

I dressed for the day in black leggings and a short magenta dress with black ballet flats. It would be comfortable enough for sitting for a long rehearsal and still nice enough that I could wear it to work. The parking lot was packed with cars when Hotch dropped me off (my valid excuse for asking for a ride when I had my own car) as we were on the cusp of hell week with almost all hands on deck. The only people missing at this point from rehearsals were the make up and hair people.

Today was all about the ensemble scenes, including the prologues, finales, and songs like "Ever After" and "It's the Last Midnight." I was missing Liz in the pit band, but she had decided to audition for a role this year so she was currently singing her heart out as Rapunzel on stage. Unfortunately, that left me with Alicia, Mark, and Jenny Thiele in the pit with me and no one to talk with. Thank God most of my detractors thought that ignoring me was a clever trick. I was grateful.

"We're still dragging the tempo for 'Ever After' so I want everyone to run through that piece specifically before Monday's rehearsal," Mr. Rose told us at the end of our morning. "Other than that, you all know your problem areas."

I packed up my flute and music and headed for the door, already plotting on how to bring up the last case with Reid. If the parking lot had been packed earlier that morning, it was worse now with everyone wanting to get out of here. Add to that all the students getting out of morning practices for the spring sport teams and it felt as if the whole student population was present.

Finally I saw Reid standing next to his gigantic oldie, waving one long arm to get my attention. I smiled and waved back, about to brave the crossings, when I heard familiar voices and familiar names.

"_That's_ an FBI agent? You're kidding." It was Jenny Thiele.

"Rachel's dad recruited him a few years ago," I heard Alicia explain. "He's some super genius or something."

"He'd have to be," someone else laughed. "He looks like my little sister could beat him up."

If it had been any other day, I could have walked away. If it had been a few years ago, I might have smiled and let it go just because Reid _was_ such an unlikely looking federal agent.

But after everything that had happened to me, and to him, and even just the stuff that I knew about, no way.

I turned on my heel and stalked back to the group of girls, reveling just a little bit in the way they all flinched when they realized I had heard them. But they had comfort in numbers and popularity, so the disdainful facades flipped onto their faces, though Alicia's still looked slightly concerned.

"Sorry, I couldn't help but overhear your opinions on that federal agent," I commented, not sounding sorry at all.

"You mean the beanpole over there?" Jenny clarified. "Yeah. I thought FBI guys were supposed to be tough."

"You want to know what's better than being tough?" I asked rhetorically. "Being smart, which is what that guy is. His name is Doctor Spencer Reid, a supervisory special agent in the FBI on the Behavioral Analysis Unit. There's less than a hundred of agents who make it to that level. He graduated from high school when he was twelve and he had three doctorate degrees before he was twenty one years old."

Alicia and the others started to look a little impressed and chagrined, but Jenny would rather eat carbs all day than let me gain the upper hand.

"It's hard to imagine him taking down an armed suspect," she remarked snidely. "Does he lecture them to submission? Arrest by boredom?"

"Not exactly," I replied. "But he outsmarts them all the time. Once, he was even taken hostage, had no weapon of his own, but at the end of the day, _he_ was the one who walked out after the suspect had been shot, by _him._"

"Okay, so he's smart, fine," Alicia broke in, obviously trying to diffuse the situation. She at least knew me well enough that I wasn't going to go easy on them about this. And she knew at least a little bit about the ammunition I could draw on to make my point.

"He's a genius," I snapped. "And he's also one of the bravest men I know. However smart he is? He's just as strong. He's helped stop terrorists, rescued a woman from her stalker, and faces off against rapists and serial killers all the time. One time, he was abducted by a psychopath with split personalities who tied him up, beat him for two days, and played Russian roulette with a pistol in his face and _he didn't break_."

Each of the girls was staring at me with wide eyes and I realized that we had an even larger audience as other kids had stopped to eavesdrop.

"And you know the best part?" I laughed. "He does all of this despite the fact that people like you constantly dismiss and ridicule him to his face and behind his back. And he would still do his best to help you if you needed it. Because he's bigger than petty teasing and judgmental, small-minded opinions like yours."

For once, Jenny's face was devoid of its usual pretty and sly little smile. Alicia looked ashamed and the others couldn't meet my eyes.

"So try to show a little respect, okay?"

I left before I could keep going, which I still could. There was tons that I wanted to add, like how Reid had been the one to go to Dad's cabin alone. Or I could have shared some of the gory details that I knew about the team's cases which were enough to make me squirm and would have sickened everybody present and sent them screaming for the hills.

But instead I walked away. I hadn't made it more than ten yards away when I realized that Reid was suddenly standing right there on the sidewalk, his expression inscrutable.

I gulped. "You heard all of that, didn't you?"

"I think I missed the beginning," he commented neutrally. "I came in when you brought up Phillip Dowd's case."

I hadn't remembered the name, but of course Reid would remember the first man he had killed, even without the eidetic memory.

"Let's get going," Reid suggested. "Tables fill up fast at the café on Saturdays for lunch."

I followed in his wake, worrying that I had offended him or stepped out of bounds sharing all of that information with a bunch of silly teenaged girls who didn't know any better. The longer we went without speaking, the more I regretted it just for his sake. It was very personal information that he probably didn't want everyone to know. Reid seemed deep in thought as we drove into town, so I remained silent. In my thoughts, I realized that I had never seen Reid act this way toward me before in my life. There was something bone-chillingly disturbing with getting the silent treatment from Reid, more than from anyone else in my life.

"I'm sorry," I said quietly after we had snagged a corner booth inside the Crown Café. "I know I shouldn't have let them bother me like they did and I know I shouldn't have told them all those things about you."

Reid glanced up from the menu (why he needed to look when it was already imprinted in his memory I don't know) and raised his eyebrows in surprise. "What?"

"I'm sorry," I repeated. "I was just sinking to their level."

"Rachel," Reid said slowly. "No one has ever stood up for me like that before. No one."

My mouth dropped open, I'm sure of it. "Then why haven't you said anything since we left school? I thought you were angry."

He frowned. "Not angry. I'm surprised and just a little in awe right now. You were brilliant."

And now I was blushing. I hid my face by looking at my own menu even though I knew I would be ordering my favorite asparagus and mushroom quiche. I looked up when Reid reached out and grabbed my hand.

"Thank you, Rachel," he told me steadily. "Thank you for defending me and for appreciating who I am and what I do. What the whole team does."

"I owe you so much," I confessed in a whisper. "And no one is as spectacular as you are and as under-appreciated."

Before either of us could get any mushier, our waitress came by for our drink orders. It was Natasha today, daughter of my boss Colin at Monarch Books and granddaughter of Matilda Morris who ran the cafe. She was four years older than I was and attending culinary school to follow in the family business.

"Don't tell me," Natasha said. "One iced green tea with lemon and sweetener, one tall coffee heavy on the cream and sugar."

I was much a regular as Reid, so our typical orders were common knowledge, even to knowing that I preferred mochas in the mornings and tea in the afternoons.

"Just for that, I want a lemonade," I corrected her with a smile.

Natasha smirked. She was no more than an inch or two taller than I was with purple and blue streaks in her blond hair. "Changing it up for lunch, too?"

"Absolutely not. That quiche is a sacrament."

"And for you, Doctor Reid?"

"Chicken salad on the croissant, please, Natasha."

"Coming at you."

"So what else is on your mind?" Reid asked after Natasha had left.

I actually did consider deflecting his query, but then I thought, what's the point?

"Hotch mentioned the last case was hard for you," I admitted. "But he was tight-lipped on the details."

Reid sighed. He didn't answer me until after Natasha had dropped off our drinks.

"You know that our suspect was a teenaged boy, right?" he asked me. I nodded. "And he was targeting the people in his life that had wronged him or the girl he cared about, like classmates that had been cruel and both of their fathers who had been abusive in one way or another."

"Are you saying that you think he was justified?" I asked carefully thinking about my own group of classmates that I really didn't like.

"No," he answered quickly. "But I understand why he did it. He was smart but not on tests so most people thought he was slower than he actually was. And he was always teased."

I suddenly understood exactly why Reid had risked his life to save the boy even after all he had done.

"He was like you," I said.

Reid snorted. "Close enough that I felt more on his side than the police."

"And that's why Hotch got upset with you," I realized. "You got in the way of the police bringing the kid down."

Reid's eyes were sharp on my face, likely reading all the micro-expressions on my face but having to sit on his observations while Natasha came with our food.

"You are picking up profiling skills so quickly it's a little scary," Reid admitted.

"Spencer, if I wasn't learning how to profile after listening to you and Dad and Hotch after all this time, you would be worried about my intelligence."

"True."

We lightened up the rest of our conversation as Reid asked for my performance dates and I talked about what I wanted to cover in our study session later in the day. When we had finished eating, Reid handed me money to take up to the counter, but I insisted on using my discount card instead of his.

"Gran wants to know if you were headed next door if you might bring some drinks and snacks to Dad and the others," Natasha asked as she rang our order up.

"Yeah, sure," I agreed.

Natasha smirked. "There's a green tea for you, too."

I smirked back. "Thank you," I said sweetly. "Oh, and Spencer is likely to keep our booth and do some reading while I'm working." I added a few bills of my own on the pile. "Keep him caffeinated for me please?"

"My pleasure," Natasha promised, looking over at the man in question before looking back at me. "Lucky you to be so close to him. He's just ridiculously hot, in a geeky way."

"Spencer? Hot?" I asked.

Natasha winked at me. "Get on my side of twenty and a sexy geek becomes much more desirable."

I shook my head. I loved Reid, I did, and while I knew exactly how amazing he was, I could not think of him that way.

"He's practically my brother," I protested. "Just, keep those thoughts to yourself."

"I'm not alone in thinking that way!" Natasha called after me as I made my escape.

Reid had his mouth open to ask me what was going on, but I cut him off before a single word made it out. "You don't want to know, trust me."

Thankfully, I was spared the torture of telling Reid that he was Natasha's eye candy.

I went to work at the bookstore, working on entering new inventory into the computer, picking up the toys and books in the kid's corner, and eventually climbing the ladder to dust the top shelves and the books resting there.

"Try not to fall down, honey," Colin warned me. "I don't want FBI agents busting my tail for your clumsiness."

Colin had known Reid for years and Hotch had made it a point to stop in and meet Colin when I had been hired on permanently. The entire work place knew about my connections.

With my boss still watching me, I reached backwards to re-shelve a book, wobbling on purpose before righting myself.

"Oops," I said unrepentantly.

"Rachel, it would be impossible to overbalance on that ladder to knock down all the bookshelves in the store like dominos."

Both Colin and I looked over and saw that Reid had come into the store. I glanced at my watch and saw that it was nearly time to leave.

"It looked like fun in _The Mummy_," I explained.

I burst out laughing when Colin started muttering about curses under his breath just like the curator had in the film.

"But that ladder only had two points in contact with the ground," Reid explained, still intent on his lecture about structure and gravity. As he proceeded to explain how the bookstore ladder was designed for stability, he walked up and offered me a hand down. I took it and hopped down the last few steps, just to tease.

We said good-bye to Colin, who pretended to look relieved that I was leaving.

"Thanks for introducing me," I told Reid as we walked to his car. "I can't imagine working anywhere else."

We picked up Chinese on our way to Reid's apartment and ate an early dinner before working on my SATs for a couple hours. By the time I was starting to wilt, _Doctor Who_ was on. Curled up on the couch and watching the Doctor and Shakespeare save the world, I couldn't help but think: cool as the Doctor is, I had my own Doctor who was even better.

* * *

Notes:

Personally, I remember being horrified with the story of Reid's childhood shared in this episode. It's one of the biggest reasons that I detest bullies in addition to my own experiences which seem minimal compared to this and others. And that's why I had to have Rachel verbally decimate the group of girls. It was too fun to resist and I hope everyone enjoyed her "protective sister" tirade.

Anyone who has seen _Fantasia _knows "The Rite of Spring" because it's the song used for the animation of the universe being created and into the dinosaur segment. There's also a funny story about the bassoonist who solo-ed the opening, but I'll let people PM me if they want that. That bit up there about the near-riot at its premier? Stravinsky composed very startling music for his time and what happened was that some of the audience was genuinely intrigued and some were appalled. The shocked-and-appalled crowd started talking and griping, then they were shushed by the rest and well, music lovers are very passionate people, leading to some altercations. Talk about a performance for the books. Personally? I am much more fond of Stravinsky's "Firebird Suite" myself. And that would make a good chapter title too, later on...

But I chose it for this chapter to echo some of the mob-like mentality that struck the sheriff's office and some of the teachers when they all turned on Owen Savage. I also thought that Reid's interference in Owen's arrest played into that theme, as well as the split of motivations between the locals and the BAU. Then I added Rachel's soap box moment and it just fit into all of that.

Thank you to all of you who read and enjoy this work of mine. It is certainly the most dedicated I've ever been to writing and a character. As we come up to the end of _Mvt III_, I want to assure you that I will be starting work on _Mvt IV_ soon. I hope to start posting that in early June in a similar fashion as I've now established of uploading four-five chapters in a row in between breaks when I write frantically to get more written. The last two chapters are a two-parter for _Lo-fi/Mayhem_, the first of which will be posted a week from today.

Thank you all again (and thanks for the reviews) and I hope everyone had a lovely Valentine's Day or Single's Awareness Day, whichever is applicable.

Cantoris


	12. Sforzando

_Related episodes: 3.20 Lo-fi_

_Szforzando-used in musical notation as an instruction to play a note with sudden, strong emphasis_

"We'll be leaving on a case today," Hotch announced as he poured himself a second cup of coffee.

I looked up from my orange juice and blueberry muffin and scanned his face. It wasn't often that I was told in person about Hotch and the team leaving.

"Where?" I asked.

"New York. There have been some shootings recently and we were called in to work up a profile," he answered.

"How long do you think you'll be gone?"

"I'm not sure. There have been five shootings so far, all random, in public, and the shooter is wearing a hood so we can't see his face on the cameras."

I could translate that in my head to mean they didn't have a clue as to what was going on yet. Hotch was still waiting for me to say something though.

"Garcia is coming with us to work on the surveillance system already in place, so you won't be able to call her if there is a problem."

"So can I expect a souvenir?" I joked.

Hotch barely cracked a smile which told me that there was something else that was bothering him but that he didn't want me to know. Sometimes, I couldn't believe how much profiling I was picking up just living with him.

Later that morning, I jumped a little, feeling my phone vibrate in my pocket while rehearsing in orchestra. I didn't jump when it buzzed again a second later but it was still surprising. I waited until I was at my locker, loading up for the rest of my morning classes before checking my phone.

The first message was from Hotch: _We're on our way to New York. Will call when I can to check up on you._ The second was similarly from Garcia: _I'm leaving on a jet plane! Have fun chickadee!_

I was sure that if the judge who had handled Hotch and Haley's divorce had known just how much I was left on my own, he would have insisted I go with Haley. I was guessing that if the case was complicated enough to need Garcia with the team on the ground, it might be a week or more before they were back. Honestly, everyone was lucky I was able to look after myself and didn't go crazy on my own.

At band later that day, I said to Michael, "I'll make you dinner if you drive me home today and let me park at Leo's to walk to school for the next week."

Michael raised a single eyebrow. "Hotch leave for a case?"

"Must be a doozy," I confirmed. "Garcia is going with."

"Did he say where?"

"New York. I thought I might look it up tonight."

Michael smiled and I smiled back. It would probably be the longest running theme for our friendship—looking up the team's cases. That and complaining about our fathers. There are worse foundations.

"Then I think we definitely need a Batman marathon tonight," Michael said.

I groaned. "You're not seriously going to make me watch Shumaker, are you?"

"Relax, I meant the cartoon show," he assured me. "No Bat-nipples for you."

I rolled my eyes and punched him on the shoulder. Michael winced and rubbed at his arm, making faces at me. I punched him again.

"Wuss. That didn't even hurt and you know it."

"You're so mean to me. Just for that, I want meat for dinner."

And that was how I found myself at the grocery store later that afternoon, figuring out what to cook that would please both of us without making me sick to my stomach to make. Sure Michael had been joking, but I wanted to surprise him. Even though it was now a year after my mother's death, I still couldn't handle the sight or handling of raw meat or even eating most of it. I could manage to eat and prepare seafood mostly, and poultry I could manage to eat on occasion. Pork and beef though…they were still most definitely out of the picture. The look and smell was much too familiar and just made me sick to my stomach.

However, there were exceptions to every rule, which was why I had a casserole of homemade, from scratch, macaroni and cheese with crumbled up bacon (courtesy of the pre-cooked variety) and a crispy breadcrumb topping bubbling in the oven when Michael rang the buzzer to be let in.

"I trust this is satisfactory?" I asked archly when we were seated on the couch with full plates of mac and cheese and a simple green salad, waiting for the DVD menu to load.

With exaggeration, Michael took a bite, chewed thoughtfully, and then swallowed.

"Well, it beats the ramen I have in my pantry," he admitted.

"Asshole," I muttered under my breath before taking my own bite.

There wasn't much talk after that as we munched and watched the Caped Crusader save GothamCity. Hannah even came out and joined us on the couch, curling up in my lap after thoroughly inspecting Michael. My cat's list of tolerated people had grown to include him, Hotch, and Garcia. It was definitely progress.

Around nine o'clock, Hotch called to check in.

_"You'll be okay on your own for several days?"_ he asked.

"Don't worry about me," I assured him. "How are things looking up there?

Hotch sighed over the phone; I knew he was debating what to tell me while weighing both content and confidentiality_. "We had another shooting today like the others so we only have a general profile. There's still a lot of work to be done."_

"Be safe," I said unexpectedly. I didn't normally let Hotch know that I worried about the team in the field, mostly because I tried not to acknowledge it myself. If I worried every single time they all went out on a case, I would wear myself to exhaustion in a month. And even though I knew that Hotch and Reid and the rest were all trained agents—good, trained agents—I was also acutely aware of the type of criminal they faced head on. Especially when even they weren't really sure what or who they were dealing with.

_"I don't want you to worry," _Hotch said. _"We're working with the local office and NYPD on this. There are plenty of agents and cops and we're all watching each other's back. Understand?"_

"Yeah, of course," I answered breezily.

_"Are you sure you'll be all right?"_

"Absolutely." I thought about changing the subject. "You left enough emergency cash, I can call Haley if I need to, and I'll keep busy with school and work."

_"And college research,"_ Hotch reminded me, going along with my topic change. _"You might consider applying to some now and the early action deadlines are coming up."_

"I know. I have an essay that I can tweak and I could ask Mr. Rose for a recommendation letter."

_"It's not that I want to push you…"_

"You're looking out for me and want what's best for me," I finished Hotch's statement. "I understand."

_"All right. I'm guessing Michael came over tonight?"_

I looked over where Michael was still sitting on the couch. "Yep. I traded dinner for parking."

_"I'm trusting that you'll call it a night at a reasonable hour, please,"_ Hotch requested. _"Check that the windows and door are locked before you go to sleep."_

"No worries. You'll tell everyone I said good luck?"

_"Of course. Good night, Rachel."_

"Good night, Hotch."

Michael waited until I was back on the couch before looking at me with concern on his face. "You okay? You seem a little…off."

I shook my head to clear away my worries, at least succeeding in pushing them aside. "Nothing. Just the usual stuff whenever they leave."

"Do you want me to spend the night? You don't have to be alone."

I summoned a smile that was only half fake and turned to face Michael straight on. "Go back to your bachelor pad, I'll be fine."

There was a certain amount of push in Michael's and my friendship that we each didn't allow anyone else. But there was also the boundary of leaving some things alone. Michael simply accepted my answer and turned back to the TV screen.

"Two more episodes, do you think, then I'll hit the road?"

"Sounds perfect."

After Michael left with his usual instructions to text me when he reached his apartment as well as the leftover mac and cheese, I cleaned up the dishes and dutifully checked the locks on the windows and door before turning the lights off. In my bedroom, I set out clothes to wear the next day, brushed out my hair and changed into pajamas. Hannah joined me in bed and I fell asleep quickly.

I was awake around two in the morning, breathing heavily from disturbing dreams. The only images I could remember were my own blood-soaked hands, shattered glass, a flashing scalpel, and mangled body parts.

"I am not pre-cognitive, I am not pre-cognitive," I chanted to myself. "Just memories." It didn't matter that in the dream, I couldn't tell _whose_ body parts I was seeing.

Instead of trying to sleep again right away, I got up and made a cup of chamomile and peppermint tea and brought it back with me to my bed. I turned my light on to scare away the shadows and got under the covers again. It took me a half hour to drink my tea and stop shaking. When I turned off the light and reclined in bed, Hannah came up with me, rubbing her face against mine. I let her curl up on my pillow right next to my face so that I fell asleep with the smell of her fur in my nose.

I didn't need my alarm to wake up in the morning since I had slept so lightly for the previous four hours. Somehow, I showered, dressed, made my bed, and dried my hair on auto-pilot. I still felt worn down from my bad dreams.

I quickly convinced myself that it was an emergency and grabbed twenty dollars from the drawer in Hotch's desk. I fed Hannah, grabbed my back pack and keys, and drove to the Crown Café for a pit stop before school.

I was in before the commuter crowd, so there were only a handful of people in the shop total and no one waiting in line when I walked up. Instead of Natasha, her grandmother and owner of the café, Matilda, was behind the counter.

"Morning, Mrs. Morris," I said, summoning a smile to my face with effort.

"Tcha, you call me Matilda, I tell you all the time," she chided me. Matilda had emigrated to the States during World War II from Germany, married here, and gave birth to her son, my boss, shortly thereafter. She was doing well for her age, just slowing down a bit and working limited hours. Her English was actually much better than she let on; she liked to play up the little, foreign lady stereotype.

"Sorry, Matilda," I apologized. "Habit."

"And what habit has kept you up so late?" the little old lady demanded. "You look like you slept only a wink last night."

I grimaced and shrugged. "Bad dreams," I explained quickly. "What do you recommend to get me through school?"

"No coffee, it will make you jitter. I get my special awake tea, you wait right there."

Matilda bustled behind the counter, grabbing a travel cup and lid. The kettle she grabbed was back in the kitchen which told me it was a special blend—tea for customers usually came from the Tazo brand individual bags displayed next to the register.

"Sugar, yes?" Matilda asked me. "You are sweet?"

"Yes, please."

She brought my cup over to me and gestured that I should sip right then. Considering Natasha always did the same thing with me when I tried something new, I knew it was a family trait. The first taste hit me between the eyes, powerful, deep, and just sharp enough to clear away my lingering cobwebs. I couldn't place what had gone into it, but I didn't care enough to ask.

"Much better," I said, reaching into my wallet for my discount card and money. "Could I get a half dozen glazed donuts too, please?"

After she handed me the box, Matilda looked me straight in the eye. "Now, if you work today, you tell my grouch of a son to be nice, understand?"

I smiled. "I'm not on schedule today, but thank you."

"Sleep early tonight!" she called after me, imperious as a queen.

After half the tea was gone, I felt like I could forget the dream images. When I pulled up to Leonard's Car Repair, I actually felt like my normal self. Michael was waiting for me and waved me behind the shop to park with the other employees.

"I thought dinner last night was your bribe," Michael commented when he noticed the box in my hands. "What else do you want?" he teased.

"Not for you," I said, slapping away his curious hand. "These are for the other guys, I already covered you."

When Michael didn't immediately interrogate me about my night, I thought the tea had done its work and he hadn't noticed I had been disturbed. I hadn't counted on him waiting until we were walking the handful of blocks to school to say something.

"You only go to the café in the mornings when you're feeling crappy," Michael pointed out. "What's wrong?"

"Bad dreams," I told him. "Just needed a pick me up."

"Your mother?" he asked quietly.

I had to think for a moment before answering him. "Not sure. It might have been, but I couldn't say for sure."

Michael was probably the only person in the world who knew the extent of my nightmares since the first days of our friendship. I hadn't told anyone else just how frequently I woke up from the horrific images my subconscious liked to display while I slept.

"Seriously, I can stay over and sleep on the couch," Michael offered. "You don't have to be alone."

This answer I had ready for him. "Hotch would figure out that you spent the night. It's not that he would mind if you did, but he would know that something was wrong with me and that would make him feel guilty for leaving all the time. It wouldn't stop him from leaving, but he would hate himself even more for it and I don't want to do that to him."

Michael rolled his eyes, but he also sighed in agreement. "Fine. But call me if it happens again tonight. No matter what time it is, you hear?"

I smiled and reached out to take Michael's hand to squeeze. "That I'll do. Thanks."

I made it through French without incident and settled for putting in the ear buds of my iPod during study hall to mentally check out while listening to the Venus, Jupiter, Uranus, and Neptune tracks of Holst's _The Planets_. Statistics was distracting enough to keep my mind busy and then I went to orchestra. At the end of practice, I went to Mr. Rose with my request.

"Of course I'll write a recommendation letter for you," he assured me. "When is the deadline?"

"I haven't decided where to apply yet," I explained. "But my guardian advised me to look at early action admissions and I want to be prepared."

"That sounds like good advice. How about I have it for you in a week?"

"Great. Thank you so much."

"You're welcome. And Rachel?"

I had been turning away to get to my next class, but I stopped when Mr. Rose called me back. He looked worried.

"You look a little tired today. Is everything okay?"

I summoned a smile and consoled myself that Rose had known me since the summer program I took before starting high school. Of all my teachers, he knew me the best.

"I didn't sleep well last night," I said honestly but vaguely. "It's nothing to worry about."

"If you're sure… Well, try to get to bed early tonight, all right?"

"That's the plan," I assured him.

Physics was easy since we had taken the AP tests last week, just like US History later that day. The rest of my classes weren't gearing up for finals yet, so I didn't have to concentrate on them too much. I didn't work in the bookshop that day, so I went home after school and got a head start on my homework for the weekend. I made a Cobb salad for dinner and made up a new pitcher of iced tea after drinking the last glass. I spent some time on the computer, caught up on my Facebook and email, including the email sent from my brother Alan who was currently in Kenya.

That night, it was Garcia who called to check up on me.

"I don't suppose you have time to go catch a Broadway show, right?" I asked. "Or actually, I wouldn't want you to go without me."

_"I would never think of doing that to you,"_ Garcia swore. _"But fret not. One day, I will bibbidi-bobbidi-boo us to the Big Apple and we will rock this city."_

I flopped over on the couch where I was sitting so that I was lying flat on the cushions except for my legs draped over the couch arm. Hannah took the opportunity to climb up onto my stomach.

"How's the case?" I asked cautiously. Surprisingly, Garcia tended to be more tight-lipped about sharing case-related information with me than either Hotch or Reid. And I never thought it was her trying to shelter me more, just that she never talked about cases more than she had to with anyone.

_"Oh, chickadee. It was not a good day."_

"What happened?" I demanded.

_"No, nothing bad like that,"_ Garcia hastened to reassure me. _"But we had another shooting and Morgan and Hotch had some kind of argument about it, that's what I meant."_

I struggled to calm my racing heart. I knew without asking that Garcia would never tell me about why Hotch and Morgan had fought because she viewed that as private and not to be spoken about with anyone, including me.

"So, that's seven victims now, right?" I asked instead.

_"Sadly, yes. And we had the little rat on camera the whole time, too."_

"Then he cannot hide for long from the all seeing oracle then, can he?"

_"Absolutely right, chica. Everything okay with you on the homestead?"_

"Peachy keen," I fibbed. It was mostly true anyway and over the phone, it would be harder for her to catch me at it.

_"Well, I think everyone's headed for the hotel now. Do you want me to have Hotch call you, too?"_

"Naw, I'm fine. I was going to turn in early. Just let him know that I'm good, please?"

_"I shall spread the word, my darling. Kiss your kitty for me."_

"Conquer the bad guys tomorrow. Good night."

_"Sleep tight and sweet dreams."_

"Yeah, here's hoping," I muttered after I hung up.

I looked down my body and saw Hannah staring at me without blinking. I leaned up and planted a kiss right on her nose. She meowed as I flopped back down into the cushions, but didn't otherwise protest or comment.

At that point, I felt tired enough to sleep, but I stayed awake to watch some TV until ten o'clock. Then, I felt more than tired enough that I hoped to be too exhausted to dream at all. I even lit a stick of lavender incense to keep me calm during the night.

Whether it was catching up from the night before, the incense, or even Garcia's magical well wishes, my sleep was uninterrupted and peaceful throughout the night.

* * *

Notes:

Sorry for the late update. It was a crazy weekend. I hope that I will still be able to conclude this movement on Friday, but I'm still editing the last chapter. So, yes, _Mvt III_ is coming to a close with these two finale chapters.

I hope everyone caught on to why I chose the chapter title I did, even though we haven't quite gotten the actual "boom" just yet.

Not a lot else that I think I need to say for this chapter, it should be fairly straight foward. I hope you enjoyed and I look forward to reading your responses as I wrap up this baby and get started on the next movement.

Thanks again, and sorry again.

Cantoris


	13. Decrescendo

_Related episodes: 3.20 Lo-Fi, 4.01 Mayhem_

_Decrescendo: to play with gradually diminishing force or loudness_

The next day, I headed to Monarch Books for a couple hours of work after school. I felt lazy about dinner so when I was done, I walked next door to order some food to take home with me. There isn't typically much of a dinner crowd at the Crown Café, so I was the only one there besides Natasha who I spotted behind the counter.

"And what can I do for you, intrepid book stacker?" the older girl asked me.

I shook my head; Natasha was a little too much like Garcia sometimes for my comfort. I was certain they were related somehow, I just haven't been able to find the proof for it yet.

"Looking for some dinner to take home with me. Anything special today?"

Natasha took a moment to think it over and luckily, she had once thoroughly interrogated me on my dietary preferences. One thing Natasha never compromised was food.

"How does a tuna melt sandwich sound? And we should have some vegetable noodle soup left from lunch today."

"Perfect."

"Coming right up. Take a seat while I play with fire. Help yourself to tea."

I spotted the carafe of tea on the prep counter behind the register. I hopped over, grabbed a cup, and poured for myself, adding sugar. Today's blend was loaded with citrus, peach, and a hint of ginger. I was about to pour another to bring back to Natasha when my phone rang.

"Hey, Michael, I'm at the café, do you want some dinner or something?"

_"Can you get to a TV right now?"_ Michael asked urgently.

"I don't know," I answered. "Why?"

_"National news channel is reporting on the New York shootings,"_ Michael explained shortly. _"They mentioned someone on the investigative team was shot today."_

"Tasha! I need a TV right now!" I shouted in the direction of the kitchen.

Natasha poked her head through the door and looked at me in concern. "There's a small one in that cupboard," she pointed out.

I crouched down and whipped the cupboard door open. There was a thirteen inch screen, an older model that had probably been there for years. I turned it on and switched channels.

_"…the New York City detective was shot while pursuing a suspect in the recent shootings. We've learned that the combined forces of the NYPD and FBI were stationed throughout the city today in an effort to catch the persons responsible for the deaths of eight people, counting the shooting today."_

On the screen, I saw footage of the paramedics loading a man into an ambulance. It was hard to tell what he looked like through the drape over his body and the oxygen mask over his face. Even though the news had said it was a detective, I couldn't be sure they weren't wrong.

_"Hey, you still there?"_

"Yeah, Michael. I need to call the team."

_"I'll be by your place later."_

I hung up and dialed Hotch's number while still watching the news. The camera had panned around and I vaguely recognized Emily and Morgan off to the side. I didn't see anyone else before the news switched stories.

"What's going on?" Natasha asked me, crouching down to my level.

"I don't know," I muttered. "Damn." I had gotten Hotch's voicemail. I left a terse, "call me back" message and then tried Reid's phone only to get the same results. Strike three was Garcia's line. "Shit, shit, shit."

"Rachel, you're freaking me out."

I looked up into Natasha's hazel eyes and saw that she was truly worried.

"My guardian, the team, they're in New York and someone working with them was shot today and I don't know who and now no one is answering their phone," I babbled. "That's never happened before. Someone has _always_ answered me. But not right now, not one of them."

"Okay, just take some deep breaths, okay?"

It wasn't until then that I realized that I was almost hyperventilating. I hadn't had a panic attack it almost a year.

"Better," Natasha said. "If I'm understanding this right, your people are probably busy dealing with the aftermath of the man who was shot. Wait until you get home, eat something, then try calling again if no one's called you back, okay?"

I nodded dumbly and stuck my phone in my pocket. Natasha stood up and then pulled me to my feet. When I didn't move, she eyed me up and down critically.

"Maybe you should come home with me. You don't look too good to be on your own tonight."

I shook my head. "Michael, my friend, he'll come stay with me."

"If you're sure. But I'm driving you, I don't trust you on the road right now."

I didn't feel the need to argue that one. I simply watched as Natasha hurried through the steps of shutting down the kitchen, locking the register, and dimming the lights. She led me outside by the hand with a bag of food in her other. She put the food down to lock the front door rather than let me go. It was more comforting to me than I cared to acknowledge.

Any other time, I would remark that the cherry red Volkswagon Beetle was utterly typical for Natasha's personality. But I was too busy willing my phone to ring and trying not to dwell on the images my mind kept remembering. I could still picture Reid on a computer screen in Georgia, choking to death before my eyes. I remembered the smell of smoke on Dad's clothes when he had come home after the Bale bombings. There was Hotch, driving me home from the mall opening, worried about Haley and Jack. Or Garcia bleeding out on the sidewalk outside her apartment building.

I don't remember telling Natasha my address, but I must have since she pulled up to the right apartment building. She followed me inside and down the hall to the apartment where we found Michael sitting on the floor outside the door.

"What happened?" he demanded after only one look at me.

"I can't get any of the team to answer their phones," I explained. When I said it out loud, it really did sound like a silly thing to worry about to the extent that I was. But no matter what I told myself, I couldn't shake the bone-deep certainty that something was wrong and that it was about to get worse.

Luckily, Michael and Natasha seemed to realize that it was futile to tell me not to worry. Michael took the keys out of my numb hands and opened the door, gently pushing me inside. Natasha stopped at the door and put my back pack down on the floor just inside. She then handed the food bag to Michael.

"My dad and I will bring her car over tomorrow, so don't worry about that," she explained to him. "Just stay with her and try to get her to eat something."

"Thanks," Michael said. "I'm glad you were there."

Natasha nodded and then pulled a pen out of her blouse pocket. "Here's my number," she explained, writing it down on his hand. She should have been smirking as she did it, but she was still solemn. "Call me when you learn something."

I was still standing in the front hall like a zombie when Natasha reached out and hugged me and said good night. After she left, Michael locked the door behind her.

"Change into something more comfortable while I get the food ready," Michael instructed me. "I have a feeling it's going to be a long night."

It wasn't until I was in my bedroom and changing out of my skirt and blouse that I even realized I had obeyed without thinking. I took ten seconds to decide I didn't mind and then finished putting on yoga pants and an oversized tee shirt. Hannah followed me back into the living room and joined me on the couch. I grabbed the TV remote and turned on the same national news channel as before. Nothing about New York.

Michael brought over a bowl of reheated vegetable noodle soup—Natasha had packed that but had given up on the tuna melt apparently—and a chunk of bread.

"I'm not hungry," I protested.

Michael raised his eyebrows. "I really do not want to get in trouble with that chick for not following her orders." He turned to Hannah and said, "Your food is in your bowl, cat."

I ate automatically without noticing trivial things like taste. I ate because Michael told me to and it was all I could handle right now to do what someone else was telling me. I felt numb, but a different kind of numb after Mom died or Dad left. This time, I was tense and waiting for a possible axe to fall, telling me that I had lost someone else important from my life. I was positive that should the worst happen, I wouldn't be able to handle it.

Michael took away my dishes as soon as I was done and returned quickly to sit silently by my side, shooing Hannah off the couch so that he could sit flush up against me. He grabbed a blanket from the back of the couch and laid it over the both of us with his arm around my shoulders, holding me tight. There was no sound except our breathing and the news coverage that still wasn't what I wanted—needed—to hear.

I had thought that the early evening was unbearable, but then I learned what that truly meant.

Around ten o'clock, the news had cycled back to the New York shootings, but instead of recapping what had happened earlier in the day, they had more to report.

_"We've just received word that a black SUV parked outside the federal building has blown up. It is believed that this incident is in connection with the shootings that have occurred in recent weeks. There is no word on any victims in the vehicle or the area as law enforcement is maintaining a barricade while they sweep for other incendiary devices."_

Even years earlier, I had joked about the stereotypical black SUV that Dad and the rest of the team drove when they were on a case. I had ridden in them myself. There was no doubt in my mind that someone I loved was involved in the car bomb.

"There's no reason to think one of the team was in that SUV," Michael hastened to assure me, looking at me intently while I stared blankly ahead at the screen. There were now images taken from a distance of a smoldering ruin of a truck with debris scattered over half a block around it. I couldn't make out any people or bodies from the footage.

"Rachel, look at me," Michael commanded.

I did and saw that his face was fierce and determined.

"Until we hear from someone, _we do not know_ that anyone is injured, let alone anyone we know. They could have blown the car before anyone got in."

But I was certain. It was a typical FBI vehicle parked outside the federal building, it was about the time of night that the team would head for their hotel to get some rest before the next day. Even though I had no proof or hint, somehow I knew that one of team was hurt…or dead.

It wasn't until Michael seized me in his arms that I realized I was shaking. I flung my arms around his neck and cried into his skin as he rocked and held me.

"Someone would have called," I whispered. "Hotch or Spencer or Garcia would have called me by now to tell me something or just let me know they were all right. God, I can't lose them. Please, please, I can't lose any of them, I just can't."

There was nothing Michael could say to convince me otherwise, so he just hummed in my ear and kept rocking me. He turned the TV off and we stayed as we were as I lost track of time. It could have been minutes or hours, but at some point, I fell asleep, praying that I wouldn't be mourning someone in the morning.

I woke up when Michael was slipping out from underneath me; I had fallen asleep practically on top of him. I blinked several times, trying to put my thoughts to some semblance of order. It took a few seconds to realize that Michael had only left me to follow the sound of my cell phone ringing on the kitchen counter behind us.

"Thank God," I heard him say before he picked it up. "Hello? Yeah, she's here, she's sleeping. Is everything okay? What? Wait, I think she's awake."

I levered myself upright, noticing in the faint dawn light from the windows that Michael looked disheveled and worn out as he walked over to me, my phone in his hands.

"It's Reid," he told me.

I snatched the phone from his hands and pressed it eagerly to my ear.

"Spencer? Are you okay, what happened?" I demanded breathlessly.

_"We're all right, Rachel."_

I almost cried in relief just hearing his voice.

_"Listen, I know you've been worried. None of us had the time to call you back and then…"_

"The car bomb, I saw it on the news," I interrupted. "Was it someone on the team? Tell me!"

"_Hotch was right next to it_—" my breath caught in my throat _"—but he's okay. All of us are okay. After the explosion, we lost communications for a while and then we had to find the terrorists. I can't tell you anything more than that, but it's over and we're coming home today."_

"Okay, okay," I said softly, more to myself than to Reid. "Is Hotch hurt?"

_"Some. He has damage to his right ear drum and abrasions. Morgan is driving with him back to DC, the rest of us are flying in. We should be leaving around seven a.m."_

"But you're all okay," I repeated, because I needed to hear it again.

And of course, Reid understood that. _"We're okay. I'm sorry that you had to sit in the dark with this. It couldn't have been easy for you."_

"I've been a wreck," I admitted. "But I'll see you when you get home, right?"

_"Yes. I'll stop by and then Hotch should be home a couple hours after that."_

"Okay." I took a few deep breaths and ordered my heartbeat to slow down. "Tell everyone that I'm glad they're all safe for me, will you?"

_"I promise. I'll see you soon."_

I hung up and then collapsed backwards onto the couch, flinging my arm over my face to hid the fresh tears.

"Everyone's good?" Michael asked me.

"Yeah," I answered. "Hotch was right next to the car when it blew up, but he's fine. No one else on the team was hurt and they're all coming home today."

Michael heaved his own sigh of relief and came to sit by my feet on the couch. "Good." He leaned back until his head was resting against the back of the couch.

"Thank you," I said quietly. "I don't know what I would have done without you last night."

Michael reached out and squeezed my free hand. "Whenever you need me, I'm there."

There was probably a lot more I should have said to him, but I was too tired to work out what I wanted to say. I knew that Michael understood anyway.

I fell asleep for another couple of hours and woke up again when I heard Hannah meowing for her breakfast. According to my watch it was eight o'clock and Michael was still sleeping next to me on the couch. I got up and fed Hannah before going to my bathroom to take a shower. In my head, I worked out that Reid should arrive in a couple of hours and Hotch at least by noon. I wasn't on the schedule to work today and didn't have anything else planned.

I came out into the living room with damp hair and clean clothes on, jeans and a tee shirt. Michael was sitting up and blinking rapidly to wake himself up.

"Breakfast?" I asked.

"Sure, but I have work today."

He said it hesitantly, like it was okay for me to ask him to stay and find someone to cover for him.

"Breakfast burrito it is then," I said, answering his implied question.

"If you're sure," Michael offered.

"Yeah," I promised. "Most of my emotions have stabilized once again."

"Rachel, seriously, any time you need me, I will drop everything else," Michael swore.

I looked at him steadily, meeting his eyes. "I know that," I said seriously. "And I can never tell you enough how grateful I am that you would."

"It goes two ways, you know," he pointed out.

I remembered the times Michael would be withdrawn, hurting mentally or physically, and how I would also just sit with him and be there until he would pull himself together again. It really did define our relationship and always had from the beginning.

"I am so lucky to have you as a friend," I said.

"Ditto."

The quirk in Michael's lips as he said that last bit broke the atmosphere and I smiled. I scrambled some eggs, onions, peppers, and pre-cooked bacon together and rolled the mix into two tortillas for us to eat and sent Michael on his way to work.

After he left, I called Natasha and spent a half hour with her on the phone, assuring her that I was okay, apologizing for freaking out on her, and thanking her for everything she had done. Once that was done, I turned to the apartment and did some quick cleaning to keep busy until I heard Reid knocking on the door.

When I opened the door, I don't know which of us reached for the other first, but between one breath and the next, I was practically on my tip toes and hugging Reid for all I was worth. He was squeezing me almost as tightly and without hesitation.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry you had to go through all that."

I held back fresh tears by supreme force of will. "It was nothing compared to what you guys were dealing with."

I had started a pot of coffee when I had made breakfast earlier which was now ready. I automatically poured Reid a cup with lots of cream and sugar and made a second cup for myself. I was very slowly becoming as dependent on the stuff as Hotch and Reid. Most people my age would drink lattes, mochas, or macchiattos, but wouldn't touch straight coffee even with cream and sugar. Yet another example to how I was different from my peers.

Reid looked exhausted, the bags under his eyes dark and he seemed to be running on fumes from the tension in his body and his fingers twitching.

"Did you get any sleep last night?" I asked.

"Not exactly," he answered. "After the SUV blew up, we were working on the case until we finished early this morning. I slept some after I called you and then on the plane."

"What was going on? How did the case turn from random shootings to a car bomb?"

Reid took in a deep breath and I got the feeling that I wasn't going to be learning any details about this case.

"The shootings were a method of measuring police response times. The bombing was actually a ruse for the unsubs to get to their target while distracting us. Other than that, I can't tell you except that we stopped them."

Well, that was more than I was expecting.

"How close was Hotch to the bomb?" I asked quietly, slightly fearing the answer even though Reid had told me that he was okay.

"Close enough to damage the membrane in his right ear, but he was blown clear of the blast for the most part," Reid answered carefully. "Rachel…"

I had been staring in my cup of coffee while he spoke, but now I looked up.

"I don't know if Hotch would want you to know, or if he would want me to tell you, but I think you should be aware of what happened."

"Spence, you're kind of scaring me right now," I admitted.

He shook his head and rubbed at his eyes with his hand. "That's not my intention. When I told you that none of our team was hurt besides Hotch, that was the truth but not all of the truth. There was another agent with Hotch when the bomb went off. She was the local team leader and she and Hotch have known each other for several years."

I felt a pit forming in my stomach as I anticipated what Reid was about to tell me.

"She suffered more damage from the explosion and because of our tactics, there was a long delay before she was able to get medical attention. She died early this morning during surgery."

Immediately, I was glad that Reid had told me. I remembered how I had felt when Dad had been acting strangely and I was clueless about what was going on. Reid had been my informant then, too.

"Rachel?"

I hadn't spoken a word and Reid was watching me in concern. Saying 'thank you' sounded odd, 'sorry' was inadequate.

"I'll see if Hotch tells me," I finally stated. "If he doesn't, I'll just be careful not to bring it up or let on that I know."

"That's probably a good idea," Reid agreed.

There wasn't a whole lot else to say, so I told Reid to go home and get some real sleep. He still offered to stay with me until Hotch got home, but I quoted back some of his own statistics about drivers falling asleep at the wheel.

I turned to one of my common coping mechanisms and started making chocolate chip cookies. I was cleaning up the kitchen an hour later when I heard the front door unlock and keys jingle. I turned around and Hotch was putting his briefcase and go bag down on the floor in the entry way. I remembered years ago, when Dad had come home from the Bale bombings smelling of smoke and looking ragged.

Hotch was dressed in his usual suit and a clean one at that. I saw a handful of scratches on his face and the small bandage on his ear. His shoulders were tense as bow strings wound too tightly and I saw a pinched look in his eyes.

He didn't seem to know what to say and neither did I. But going off what I had done in the past, I walked up to him and gently wrapped my arms around his ribs and held on. After moments that felt like an eternity but what was probably just seconds, Hotch's arms came around my shoulders and he squeezed lightly. I kept still, waiting to follow his lead in breaking apart.

Instead, Hotch continued to hold me close and even leaned his head down until his cheek rested against my head. I was braced to support more of his weight as he leaned slightly, exhaustion radiating from him. Exhaustion and grief.

Reid had told me about the damage to his hearing so I didn't bother with words. I just stayed where I was, thankful that Hotch had come home to me alive.

* * *

Notes:

And wow, that's the end of _Sonata in G, Mvt III_. Lots of changes, lots of development, we said good bye to some characters and hello to others. I simply cannot tell all of you how much I appreciate and feed off your responses and commentary. This is the longest running series I have ever contemplated and kept going and a great deal of the credit goes out to you. Your reactions and support have kept me going and kept me thinking and writing. I hope you all know that.

I will now turn my attention to _Mvt IV_. There are some episodes that I am greatly looking foward to writing and some that I'm not quite sure will come out the way I'm hoping. I can only hope that my work continues to entertain you and that you find the characters as riveting as I am. Even the ones that are of my own creation, I am constantly surprised at how they manage to surprise even me when they write themselves.

With all my deepest and sincerest thanks, I hope to hear from all of you again with the next movement which I hope to start posting in early summer. Until then, my friends, farewell and thank you.

Cantoris


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